


Lie to Me

by AvaWhiteRaven



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-12 02:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaWhiteRaven/pseuds/AvaWhiteRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You managed to survive the greatest threat to mankind itself: war, the unchanging thirst that seems unquenchable even in the shadow of the post-apocalypse. But your journey isn't all doom and gloom, especially when you encounter a strange group of misfits and the ever so deceptive Deacon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rule #1 Memories never die, only slumber

**Author's Note:**

> The first few chapters are quick snippets that follow the canon storyline (and I've only very slightly changed some dialogue here and there). Probably around chapters four and five is when things veer a bit. We all played the game (or maybe you didn't XD) so I don't want to retell the game. I'm just going to add in some quests that could have happened ;3 Or rather, would have been nice to have happened

The first lesson the post-apocalypse taught you was the hardest lesson. Memories don’t simply fade away. Time won’t heal them. They’re pressed down, buried beneath scar tissue, and even the smallest trigger can split them open again. But scars speak of healing just as much as wounding. Even that lesson was painful to grasp.

That first day, when the air trembled and crackled, the ice creaked and groaned, you remembered every moment that led to that point like a vivid nightmare. Life had appeared so perfect back then, a model citizen, a model wife living in a model suburban home with your husband and newborn baby boy.

The nuclear attack began within moments, alarms pulsing through the air, the neighbors crying out in panic, the race towards the vault. And then the bombs fell, blistering heat swelling across the air just as the doors of the underground shelter were shut tight. You were all too sweetly corralled into pods, frozen into unconsciousness, and then…

You lurched forward, the stasis pod door swinging open and your body went with it. You stumbled out, barely keeping yourself from falling to your knees. Your shuddering breath rasped in your ears, softening the sirens of the vault into background noise. You narrowed your gaze against the light, searching for their familiar faces but your bruised eyes could barely focus for long than a second.

You gained your bearings, legs quaking beneath you as your brain processed the series of events. A nightmare. You must have had a horrendous nightmare about Nate being shot and killed, about Shaun being kidnapped. All of it had to have been a nightmare because who would shoot a father down and steal his son from his dying arms?

But when you staggered across the metal grated floor, when you looked through the frosted window, a part of you knew. The other part of you smashed the pod’s controls, the heavy door not opening fast enough. You desperately hoped the cryogenic ice kept him from bleeding out. Surely, whatever science worked in keeping you both frozen, could have kept the gunshot wound from bleeding. Surely, the love of your life, hadn’t died. Just another moment with him, even if it was his last, just a few unsaid words...

“Nate,” you squeaked, your voice barely reaching your own ears. He didn’t move even when you cupped your hand against his face, brushed your thumb across his ice-flaked cheek. “Nate, please…” You bowed your head, pressed your shoulder into the cold metal of the pod as you took his hand and squeezed it.

They really killed him. And they stole Shaun. Your baby was out there with those monsters. He was barely a year old. Why? Why would they do this?

“I’ll make them pay for this.” You reached up and angrily wiped the hot tears off of your face. You grabbed the only thing of his that was left, the only thing you could take with you. You pulled the wedding ring from his finger and clutched hold of it in the palm of your hand, cold metal biting against skin. “I’ll find them. I’ll get Shaun back.”

Whoever took Shaun had to be nearby somewhere. Then again, as you hugged yourself for warmth, you considered the painful events again. Had it only been minutes since the attack? Hours? Days?

You smashed a palm against the burning in your eyes, shoved at the tears that leaked. It didn’t matter. You had to search for them. You had to hunt them down and keep them from hurting Shaun like they hurt Nate. If they hadn’t already. And that was a hard truth you weren't ready to swallow.

The Vault was in a state of chaos. The low drone of sirens reverberated and muffled all other noises. Yellow lights flickered and flashed harshly against your vision. Bodies littered your path through the metal corridors. No. Corpses, you corrected, noting that flesh had rotted and dried away. Their death wasn’t recent, you consider, trying to piece together events that might have occurred while you were asleep.

It wasn’t until you accessed one of the computers that it all made sense. You understood now. Your family, your life, had been some pet project to a bunch of eggheads in fancy lab coats. They used you. They tested on you. So reading about a mutiny didn’t seem all that farfetched nor did it elicit sympathy.

The giant roaches didn’t receive it either. You couldn’t understand the science behind it but… roaches and radiation didn’t seem like a winning combination even before the bombs fell. You weren’t exactly practiced at using a weapon but beating the hell out of some bugs with a police baton made up for the tightening knot in your chest.

You didn’t think about taking the gun and bullets. You just sort of did it. It was like a deep rooted instinct, the animalistic desire to survive by whatever means possible. You shot everything that moved, stepped over the remaining corpses, ignored the other cryogenic pods until you were back at the massive Vault door.

You tightened your grip on the gun’s handle, metal and ice encased by your palm, as you stared down at the Vault-Tec scientist. He wasn’t recognizable in the least but you knew it had to be one of the scientists that had greeted you. Hell, he was probably the one who convinced you to get into the pod. The Pip-boy confirmed as much.

You kneeled down and pried it off of his arm. Before this whole mess started, you would have been revolted by the stench that clung to the device. This wasn’t the time to be squeamish. You didn’t have that luxury as you slipped it onto your arm and latched it in place.

The device still worked and you flicked through the data with analytical determination. It had to open the door somehow. Why else would the mutinous battle lead all the way to this point if not for the key?

You tugged and turned dials until your hand jerked the white plastic tube from its slot. You had no idea if it would work. You were taking a leap of faith when you pushed it into the round hole of the control panel, hearing it click and popping open the release.

Your breath stilled as your fingers pressed into the red button. The Vault door moane, its round geared body screeching with the rest of its parts. It was still functional and that gave you hope. You hoped that whoever took Shaun wasn’t far away and that you could track them down somehow.

You took the platform up to the surface with jittery uncertainty. You clenched your eyes shut, the bright white of sunlight piercing even through your eyelids. You never truly appreciated the heat of the sun like you did in the moment, your muscles loosening as the last remnants of frost were melted away.

Your vision bobbed in desperation to see what the world looked like, the view becoming all the more clearer. You weren’t sure what you expected. You knew the blast had to have destroyed everything but your mind was eager to see the bright green of foliage, the baby blue sky, the sounds of birds chirping as they flew overhead.

So when you saw the dark dingy brown, the yellowing grass, the barren trees… The knot around your throat and heart tightened. It had been Autumn when you last saw it. The trees had been in an array of reds and oranges, the ground littered with fallen leaves and just the touch of chill in the air. This… this was a barren wasteland.

You stumbled towards the path back towards town, your knees buckling out under you and your hands clapping down over your mouth. You forced back the whimpers, swallowed what sobs you could and forced yourself to stand again, an anger, a fury compelling you.

You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t crumble like this. Shaun needed you. And mostly, a part of you wasn’t quite ready to give up. That animalistic instinct to survive was growing ever the stronger.

Sanctuary Hills looked how you expected. The well respected neighborhood that Nate and you first moved into had been beautiful beyond words: crisp maintained lawns, shiny automobiles parked in their garages, children laughing and playing in their yards. Nate had been the one truly excited about it, his eyes lighting up when you first stepped through the front door together.

Of course, that had been before the bombs fell. The homes were in a state of distress, metal peeling from walls and rust scattered across every car. Debris littered the streets. Trees were tossed every which way but most of them had been knocked back by the explosion. You watched your feet, boots carefully walking over metal and wood, dirt gritting beneath each step.

You hadn’t planned on going back to your house. You didn’t really have a plan for anything but there you were standing outside. You took down a steady breath at the sight of Codsworth, the robot you’d uncertainly bought with Nate. He was a little rusted but he’d survived the bomb somehow. In fact, he appeared to be making an effort on maintaining the hedge bushes and polishing up one of the deformed plates of metal along the wall.

You muttered it, a whisper of a sound, “Codsworth.”

“Mistress?” He spun around, eagerly seeking you out for clarification. His words were a familiar delight, the joy in his words even more, “ As I live and breathe, it’s… It’s really you!”

“My god, Codsworth, this can’t be happening…” You nearly hugged the robot, but you knew its round and floating body would only feel cold and unloving. It wouldn’t have been the warmth of Nate or Shaun. “Everything’s dead. They really did destroy everything, didn’t they?”

“Everything’s dead?” he quipped, hardly missing a beat as he spoke, “Ah, yes, the garden. The posies have been problematic I admit.”

You snorted, stifled back a pained laugh. You’d always enjoyed Codsworth’s subtle moments of sass. Nate blamed you for encouraging him, for teaching it to him. “The posies…”

“If only sir were here to help us. Where is he, by the by?”

The brief flutter of humor faded and your skin paled, sheened by a layer of sickening sweat. “They killed him… Codsworth, he’s gone…”

“Mum… These things you’re saying, these terrible things… I think you need a distraction.” Codsworth, you could have sworn, brightened with a spark of delight. He hovered his way over to you, gears squeaking and metal clanking. “Yes, a distraction, to calm this dire mood.”

You swallowed the sob, forced it back down your throat and ducked your head away.

“It’s been ages since we’ve had a proper family activity. Checkers? Or perhaps charades? Shaun does so love that one. Is the lad… with you?” He even made the attempt to look over your shoulder as if Nate would appear with the baby in his arms.

“Shaun… He’s been kidnapped.” It hurt worse to say his name out loud, more than you realized. You gritted your teeth, holding onto what strength you could, “But I’m going to find him… I’m going to get him back.”

“It’s worse than I thought.” Codsworth leaned closer, those bobbing eyes of his dilating as he took in your appearance. “You’re suffering from some form of hunger-induced paranoia. Not eating for 200 years will do that, I’m afraid.”

“Two hundred years…”

He gave a bit of a chuckle, a laughter that pierced the shroud of despair that clung to you. “That means you’re two centuries late for dinner! Perhaps I can whip up a quick snack for you? You must be famished.”

You swept your attention towards the front door of the house, surprised to find it still clinging to its hinges. You stepped passed him, through the entryway, your hand sweeping up to the light switch in mechanical response. Of course the lights didn’t turn on. It wasn’t that you expected them to magically start working. It was an old, deep rooted habit that seemed to be linked with many others.

You pulled your lips into a forced smirk, doing the only thing you really could. “Damn, Codsworth. I leave you in charge of things for a few centuries and this is the state of our house?”

“Mum?” Codsworth’s grief caught you off guard, his strained tone bordering on weeping, “Oh, mum, it’s just been awful! I spent the first ten years trying to keep the floors waxed. But nothing gets nuclear fallout from vinyl wood. Nothing!”

You released a wry sigh, your hands lifting to settle down on the metallic shell of his body. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Codsworth.”

“And don’t get me started on the futility of dusting a collapsed house. The car! Oh the car! How does one polish rust?” He was nearly hysterical now, your words hardly reaching him. “For two centuries there’s been no one to talk to! No one to serve!”

“I’m so sorry, Codsworth.” Your fingers brushed over the rough patches of rust, the sleekness of metal, before stepping away from him. You looked over the living room again, a bubbling sob mixed with a chuckle, “If this is your handiwork after an apocalypse, I should give you a raise. I’ll even throw in a free can of oil.”

When he made no effort to respond you turned to find him lingering in the doorway. “I did manage to find this. I believe sir was going to present it to you as a surprise. But then, well, everything ‘happened’.” He extended the holotape out to you, waiting quietly until you took it in hand. “Now. Enough feeling sorry for myself. Shall we search neighborhood together? Sir and young Shaun may turn up just yet.”

You held onto the holotape a moment longer before finally muttering, “Sure, Codsworth. Why not? It’s only been two hundred years since we last took a stroll around the neighborhood.”

“That’s the spirit, mum!” Codsworth was out the door before you could make another remark.


	2. Scavengers, Are We

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only a few days into the apocalypse and you're already making an impression

You cleared Sanctuary Hills of its vermin, giant mole rats and mosquitoes, with the help of Codsworth. His mechanics were strangely useful for battle and his witticism made light of the heated moments of battle. Until he broke down sobbing, the sudden realization that both Nate and Shaun weren’t coming back after all. Then it was like waking up in the Vault all over again.

There was little sign of other people on the island, every supply having been abandoned and untouched. For the longest moment you thought that everyone in existence was dead. Except you and the robots. You’d spend the rest of your life traveling through ruins with only Codsworth to talk to. And he seemed somewhat half crazed these days.

That couldn’t be true, you reminded yourself, there were other people out there. Especially if someone had grabbed Shaun and killed Nate in the process. No, there were others out there and Codsworth made the comment to check Concord. They would have viable information, a piece of something at the least.

You didn’t go at first. You lingered around Sanctuary for a few days, mindlessly gathering supplies and boarding up the house as a safety precaution. You nearly scoffed at yourself, joking with the idea that if you ever found Shaun… you’d bring him back to a dilapidated house and then what? You didn’t have baby formula or access to food. The only thing lying around the area had been Cram and BlamCo Mac & Cheese.

Sleeping at night was the worst part. The couch was lumpy, a spring of some kind poking you in the side, and it smelled of smoke and musk. The bed Nate and you had shared was, at best, in shambles. But it was your thoughts, memories really, that made it the hardest thing to deal with. The silence of night was constantly pierced by your sudden remembrance of something Nate had said or something Shaun had done to make you giggle. And that damn holotape, that damn recording Codsworth had found days prior… You broke down to hear their voices again, clear as if they were standing before you.

In the morning, after barely getting any sleep, you pried yourself off the threadbare couch. You slipped into the gear you’d found, a tattered button down and scuffed jeans. They weren’t your clothes, nothing was really yours anymore. Everything that had been “yours” was either burned up in the blast or scavenged by another.

You laced up your boots and buckled down the few guns you’d collected. You didn’t have as many bullets as you would have liked, especially not when Codsworth mentioned that people in Concord only “shot at him a few times”. You figured you could always talk your way out of any situations that arose. You’d always been good at that.

You tugged down the ratty drapes from the window and wrapped them into a makeshift scarf. You pulled it up over your head, a hood to keep back the harsh bite of wind, before beginning the long march out of Sanctuary Hills. You couldn’t be for certain when, or if, you’d ever return there.

The sky above was a pale and hazy yellow, setting the hairs along your skin upright with uncertainty. You’d never seen the atmosphere look so… sickly as it did then. Clouds, if you could even consider them as such, coiled and thickened across the horizon.

You quickened your pace and took the crumbling bridge out of town towards the gas station. You hadn’t known the owners personally back then but it was the closest place to fill up the car or to get an oil change. Nate had been the one to strike up conversations with them. Somehow everyone knew about his service in the military, everyone delightful to recognize his accomplishments. Nate was always too modest, too endearing about it all.

But now, in the eery light of late morning, the large red rocket monument on the rooftop didn’t elicit the same feelings, that comfort of familiarity. A shiver ran down your spine, chilling the sweat that had began to form between your shoulder blades.

The bark drew your attention, froze you in your next steps. It’s tail was wagging, a happy and eager German Shepherd that ran to you without a second thought. It gave another bark, not an ounce of aggression in his bones.

You kneeled down, fingers sliding through the thickness of its fur. “Hey there, boy.” You buried your hand into the soft warmth, a stark contrast to the rusted metal of everything else. “Probably haven’t seen a friendly face in a long time, huh?”

His next bark was softer, those deep brown eyes speaking a story of their own.

“Alright. You can come with me but… you’re eating the Cram. That Mac and Cheese has my name written all over it.” You stood up, sweeping your eyes back towards the building and the thickening clouds. Crows, hungry scavengers, harked overhead and posted themselves on the rooftop edge. They complained to anyone listening as you sauntered cautiously towards the open garage.

You didn’t have much time to look around before the first cracks of thunder reverberated. You moved through the building, closing doors and forcing the steel blinds down over the windows at the front counter. Thankfully, and to your surprise, the garage door button was still operational. You called the dog inside just before the thick steel doors shut away the onslaught of rain and lightning.

He tilted his head, the soft muttering of a whine as he watched the storm rattle the metal door. But he didn’t seem all that unsettled by things, having endured them often. He laid down with his head resting on his paws, silently resting on the concrete floor.

You pressed your back into the wall and slid down it, arms draped over propped knees, listening to the static of your Geiger counter spike in time with the flashes of light. “Great,” you jeered, smirked tossed at the waiting canine. “Radiation storms. I can finally strike that one off my bucket list. Right up there with ‘survive the apocalypse’ and ‘get my nails done’.” You gazed over your fingers, the dusting of dirt along your skin. “They are looking a bit chipped.”

He kicked his foot out and repositioned his head, brows bending under a recognizable grief. Perhaps he’d lost someone, too. Perhaps his last owner… He seemed too tame to be a feral. Or maybe his sorrow was something more superficial like hunger and you were just reading too deeply into things. You typically did that. More often than not.

You scavenged things here and there, tossing some food down for the dog before munching on your own. When the storm finally passed, you hauled the few supplies you’d found into a makeshift sack and headed back out onto the road.

Concord wasn’t far but it was late evening by the time you reached its littered streets. Gunfire, short and quick pops, caused you to hunch down and hesitate. Codsworth hadn’t given you much hope about the location and then, as you carefully and silently came upon the scene, you considered things.

A group on the ground, heavily armored but no better looking than a group of street thugs, were focused on what was left of the Museum of Freedom. They were shooting at people inside of the building, shouting about something that you couldn’t quite make heads or tails of.

You’d planned to leave the firefight unseen but then you heard him shout, “Hey! Up here on the balcony!” He aimed his rifle, the next laser strike from his gun missing one of the men firing back. “I’ve got settlers inside. The Raiders have almost made it through the door.”

Raiders, you thought, and before you had time to even consider what that title meant, they were turning their gunfire on you as well. The dog, trusty and loyal, raced off with drumming paws. He leapt towards one of the men. His face was hidden behind a gas mask and you didn’t think anymore. You aimed and fired, wasting half your bullets on trying to get a better grip on the gun.

When the last one fell, throat clamped between the canine’s teeth, the man on the balcony shouted again, “Grab that laser musket and help us. Please!”

You surveyed the area just to make sure no one else was around to shoot you. You carefully stalked forward, knees bent and body hunched over with anticipation for more gunfire. You hesitantly plucked the rifle off of the dead man’s body. When you looked back up towards the balcony, you found the young man had disappeared from sight.

You gazed over your shoulder, looking for the dog that had defended you. “You’re not hurt, are you, boy?” You checked his fur and found some of it slick and wet with blood. You buried your fingers in it, seeking out any wounds just in case and found that none of the blood was his. You would have hugged him, thanked him properly, but those “settlers” needed help.

Raiders, you tried to consider the word again, quietly pushing open the front door to the building. Museum of Freedom. You would have chuckled, made some snide joke to anyone who was listening. If only Nate were around. He would have understood your morbid humor about the whole ‘apocalypse’ thing. He might have even cracked a witty retort in reply. Then again, Nate had always been a gentler soul, kinder, sweeter… The apocalypse might have been the last straw for him, might have broken his spirit after all the war he’d seen in the military.

You balanced the weight of the rifle in your hands, creeping along the wooden floor boards. There was faint shouting ahead and as you came upon the scene you realized it was the museum's old mechanics still running. God, how long had the passersby been forced to listen to repeated facts about the American Revolution?

Upstairs was when you finally encountered the rest of the “Raiders”. They were focused on the barred door that the stranger had warned you about. He’d said something about the Raiders getting through to a group of… “settlers”, whatever the hell that was supposed to even mean. Settlers conjured up a vision of homely looking pilgrims, ship newly landed on foreign soil…

You quietly picked them off one at a time, creeping around corners and slinking down halls. The dog took care of them once they were on the ground, a shot to the knee assisting more than you realized. When the last was good and dead, you stood up and approached the battered door. Lord knows why anyone would be desperate enough to spend hours hacking away to reach a bunch of people. Unless they had something… Or the Raiders were just blood thirsty.

You rattled your knuckles against the door, flinching when it swung open. You gripped the rifle just in case the people on the other side of the door weren’t as friendly as they claimed.

“Man, I don’t know who you are but your timing is impeccable.” He gave a sweet smile, his own laser musket in hand. “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”

“Minutemen?” Your brows jolted high. A strained laugh tugged free, the stress of everything bubbling out of you. “I can’t tell if I’m going back in time or forward. You got George Washington running around in there, too?”

“Not quite.” His smile remained but that was the only hint in his expression to show any sign of humor. He looked more worn and tired than anything else. “Protect the people in a minute’s notice. Or so that was the idea. To protect the people and make a difference.” He gave a tilt of his head, shook it a few times as his next words were softly spoken, “Now, it looks like I’m the last Minuteman left standing.”

You pulled your gaze away from him, away from the tan trench coat and the pinned cowboy hat. You glanced over the few people in his care, four of them you counted, noticing their tattered clothes. Did anyone have anything that wasn’t worn out and tattered? Did the apocalypse leave anything untouched?

Your words came out bitter than intended, “Who are these people?”

“Just folks looking for a new home. There's Marcy and Jun Long, Mama Murphy, and then there’s Sturges.” His eyes fell on the man closest to him, dressed in jean overalls with welding goggles around his neck, his attention locked on a terminal. “Lexington looked good for a while but then… the Ghouls ran us out.” Preston swept his gaze back to you, brows bent beneath the array of emotions.

“Ghouls… Do I even want to know what that is?” You knew you didn’t. Even the word itself rang ‘creepy post apocalyptic hell’ but, if you were going to survive longer than a week, you needed to know.

Preston gave a chuckle, a lighthearted sort of sound, something your ears pricked to hear. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?”

You smirked. “You’ve no idea.”

He rolled his eyes down and searched for the proper word, “They’re… ‘irradiated people’. Most are just like you and me. They look pretty messed up, and live a long time, but they’re still just people.”

You shifted your weight, crossed your arms as best as you could with the rifle. “These guys ran you out of Lexington?”

“The ones I’m talking about are different. Radiation’s rotted their brain. Made them feral. They’ll rip you apart just as soon as they look at you.” Preston gave another shake of his head, disbelieving his own words. Or perhaps he’d grown tired of the bad luck. “We figured Concord would be a safe place to settle but those Raiders proved us wrong. We do, uh, have an idea…”

You tilted your chin away, eyes peering up at the uncertain tone of his voice. “Not ominous sounding at all. What’s this… idea of yours.”

“Sturges?” He glanced at the man from the corner of his eye, “You should tell her.”

He spun eagerly away from the terminal, action rigid with irritability after not getting what he wanted from it. “There’s a crashed vertibird up on the roof. Old school. Pre-war. You might have seen it.” He held a lilt to his words, quick and easy going as he sat down on the edge of a table against the wall. “Well, looks like one of the passengers left behind a seriously sweet goody. We’re talking a full suit of cherry T-45 Power Armor. Military issue.”

The corner of your lip tugged. “Oh, Sturges, you had me at vertibird.”

He gave a rusty but delighted laugh. “Yeah, I thought you might like that. Protection with an added bonus. Get the suit, you can rip the minigun right off the vertibird. Do that and those Raiders get an express ticket to Hell. You dig?”

“Minigun and a set of Power Armor.” Your muscles relaxed a little, arms falling away from their tense grip on each other. “What could possibly go wrong with that beautiful duo at my side?”

“I know, right? Only there’s one hitch. The suits out of juice. Probably been dry for a hundred years.” Sturges’ expression finally lost its well placed jeering. “It can be powered up but that’s where we’re a bit stuck…”

Preston took a few steps, moving his weight between his feet impatiently. “What you’ll need is an old pre-war FC, a standardized Fusion Core. And we know just where to get one…”

“But we can’t get to the damn thing,” Sturges added just as impatiently. “It’s down in the basement. Locked behind a security gate. Look, I fix stuff, I tinker. Bypassing security ain’t exactly my forte.”

You weaved your gaze between the two of them then out over the silent, quivering settlers. The dog was curled up at Mama Murphy’s feet, head resting on her dirt stained shoe. “I guess blowing up the gate would be too easy?”

“If it were…” Sturges gave another laugh, a sound you were beginning to enjoy. “I’d have done it long ago.”

You took down a steady breath, your venture into Concord not quite how you imagined. You had the silly notion that there’d be people in a position to help you not… people desperate to be helped.

You gave a slow nod in resignation. You settled on snark, bitter humor rather than just… being bitter. “I’ve always wanted to hack into a highly secured computer without any form of background expertise.”

Sturges chuckled, a contagious grin on his lips. “That’s the spirit.”

You gave a look to the dog, tail wagging gingerly. “Come on, pup. Looks like we’ve another errand to run.” You stepped back out the door, the canine barking as he raced to your side.

The older woman who’d been petting his head rasped, “Dogmeat sure found us some help. Just look at her.”

You gave a sidelong look down at his wholesome brown eyes. “Dogmeat, huh? Had an owner all along, you little devil. They couldn’t come up with something better for a name? Fluffy, maybe?”

Dogmeat, you could have sworn, gave a low grumble in protest. Perhaps the atomic bomb had made canines a bit smarter, you couldn’t know for sure.

You laughed all the same. “You’re right. Barkagedon sounds so much better.”

You followed the walkway to the lower levels, sliding down the collapsed floor to the basement below. The security door was right in view and the terminal was next to it. You pulled one of the bobby pins from your hair, hardly knowing for sure if your attempts would work but you were desperate to try.

You weren’t a professional lockpicker, not in the least, but you’d lost your keys on more than one occasion. It was to the point where even Nate expected you to lose them on a daily basis. So, picking the lock to your house and car became… routine, to say the least. And maybe, just maybe, you enjoyed fiddling with the gears and weights deep inside the lock’s chambers.

The locked clicked free. It was far too easy to unlock for a “security door” but the pulsing Fusion Core was distracting your thoughts too much to consider it. You snagged the cylinder out of the power grid then headed back upstairs, eager to get the Power Armor. You trudged through the maze of the museum, sauntered past the waiting settlers, and reached the rooftop entrance.

Sturges had been right, the armor was a full set and it was massive up close. You’d seen soldiers wear them. Nate, once upon a time, had worn one. You couldn’t deny that you yourself had wanted to test it, to experience the raw power. And now, after all this time, here you were. It only took the end of the world.

You shoved the FC into the back then gripped hold of the wheel. It took a great deal of strength to twist, time and weather having sealed the metal but you finally jerked it loose. The armor split open, metal against metal, the faint pungent scent of iron and oil. You stepped inside just as you had seen others do countless times before. But the metal sliding shut around you, encasing you in its sleek grip, had been unsettling all the same.

You thought there’d be resistance, a need to be ridiculously strong, but the suit of armor worked with you. You moved across the rooftop, crushing debris and crunching glass, carefully watching to make sure Dogmeat didn’t venture too close. He seemed clever enough to keep his distance.

You ripped the minigun off. The metal holding it to the ship didn’t stand a chance and compared to the Power Armor, the gun seemed fragile and meager. You tested the weight and balance in your grip, stepping through the vertibird towards the edge of the roof. You weren’t the biggest fan of heights but being encased in armor gave you a false sense of confidence.

You looked over your shoulder at Dogmeat, his attentive eyes locked on you for orders. “Stay here, boy. I’ll be back.” You smirked and took the last steps off the rooftop. The heavy weight of the armor dropped you fast to the asphalt below, metal ramming sharp against stone. It was jostling, your thin form tossed around in the metal suit, but there hadn't been an ounce of pain.

The Raiders hadn’t been deterred at the sight you. There’d been a part of you that hoped they would simply cower away and make a run for it. Foolishly, they posted themselves behind vehicles and brick columns. They fired bullets around corners, shouting their curses as you began a slow march forward.

You aimed the minigun, prepared yourself for the raw power of it, then began the assault. An array of bullets swarmed and dispersed. They pierced everything from cars to cement walls, dropping the assailants to their knees. When you finally released the trigger, the red hot metal of the gun beginning to cool, you listened to the deafening silence.

You grinned like a giddy child until the silence was rolled over by low grumbles. You searched for it, whatever it was, the growls shaking even the earth. It screeched, lifting up out of the ground with open jaws and splayed claws. It gave another fierce growl while twisting its reptilian body towards you.

You took stumbling steps backwards, the Power Armor suddenly becoming clumsily under your guidance. Running wasn’t an option and even if it were, you wouldn’t have gotten far. You pulled taut the trigger of the gun, hearing it begin to power up as the creature’s anger grew and its speed increased.

The bullets sprayed but they had no true effect. It leapt forward, long spindly arms shoving you backwards into the earth. The minigun was knocked aside, your grip on it almost vanishing. Thank god for the armor because the beast’s twelve inch claws carved their way towards the helmet.

You grunted, metal of the armor hitting the bone of your skull. Before it could make another wide swipe, you lifted the minigun and swung it fast and hard into its jaw. You heard the distinct crunch of bone just before it gave another high pitched screech. You didn’t wait for it to recover. You pulled the trigger once more, aiming the minigun with your lap as you sat up. You emptied the last of your bullets into it, even long after it had fallen motionless to the ground.

You held onto the gun a moment longer, watching the creature’s lifeless form before finally standing up. It was then that you realized it. If you could handle all the grime, the bullets and the bruises, then you could survive. If those people in the museum had lasted that long then surely you could as well.

You dropped the minigun at your feet before activating the armor’s hatch. The steel suit grinded open and you didn’t realize how warm it had been against your skin until you were stepping backwards into open air. You took down a slow breath and shook away the sudden chil.

Preston and the others stepped through the museum doors, a quiet and weary group that straggled one after the other. Preston informed you of their plans to find a place that Mama Murphy had seen in a vision. You would have argued about the validity of a vision but you swallowed your words when she said the place was called Sanctuary.

Your lips quivered at their edges, your eyes slipping closed.

Preston stepped forward, an eager leader if not a desperate one. “Why don’t you come with us? I could really use your help.”

Your attention focused on Dogmeat as he ran between the legs of the group to find yours, as if he needed to check that you hadn’t died during the battle. You didn’t quite look at Preston when you said, “Alright. I’m in… I have to head back there anyway.”

“There’s more to your destiny,” Mama Murphy piped in, her aging voice rather sweet to the ears, a soothing lullaby. “I’ve seen it. And I know your pain.”

“Destiny.” You narrowed your gaze. Your arms folded across your chest, fingers digging into your arms as you bit back your annoyances. Your only ‘destiny’ was waking up to a wasteland after having lost everything and everyone.

“You’re a woman out of time. Out of hope.” Her expression was soft, a sweet grandmother, but her words albeit intended to be kind hurt to hear. “But not all’s lost. I can feel your son’s energy. He’s alive.”

It took everything in your not to quiver. Your muscles tightened and coiled back with repression, a thick knot twisting in your throat. You glowered over at Preston who didn’t seem all that concerned about her words.

“I can’t see him, it’s not like that. But I can feel his life force. He’s out there.” She released a slow sigh, weary eyes sliding closed. “Look, kid, I’m tired now. You bring me some chems later and the Sight will paint a clearer picture.”

You couldn’t hold back the scoff, the sudden huff of air. Of course she was taking chems to see her visions better. Of course she was asking you to get her more.

He shifted his full weight towards her, a glare that was meant to be fierce but you imagined Preston had never truly been angry in his whole life. “No! Mama Murphy, we talked about this. That junk’s going to kill you.”

“Oh shush, Preston.” She waved a hand at him, shooing away what she thought was silliness. “We’re all gonna die eventually. We need the Sight. Especially our new found friend here.” She started the long walk down the crumbling streets of Concord. “Now let’s get going. Sanctuary awaits.”

You threw Dogmeat a sidelong look from the corner of your eye. What were you getting yourself into with these people?


	3. Of the People, For the People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter :3 Lots and lots of Deacon!! I'm really stoked about writing it because DEACON

Early mornings were always the coldest. The absence of sun and the lingering midnight dew made everything so damn cold. The lack of caffeine certainly didn’t help either. What you wouldn’t give for a hot beverage to wake up your senses. And to say that you were exhausted would have been an understatement.

Preston and Sturges kept you on your toes, completing one task after the next. Sanctuary was fortified and cleared of rubble, walls lining the island’s outer edges, and the bridge into town had an actual gate. Sturges built turrets with all the junk you’d gathered together and he even taught you a few tricks in case you wanted to build one yourself.

You tracked down what was left of the food from surrounding areas, stockpiling it together for the starving settlers. You hoped it would last until the crops started to produce something more substantial. You hauled mattresses from all the abandoned houses and put them with the rest of the supplies.

You made it into a home for them. Safety in numbers, you told them, then sauntered off to your old house to sleep in the dark silence alone. Well, Dogmeat often slept close by so you weren’t entirely alone.

After Sanctuary had been well taken care of, Preston begged you to help nearby farms that were struggling to survive. “Nearby” couldn’t have been further away. You were trekking from one side of Concord to the next on the whim of settlers. You even found yourself near Lexington a few times.

You killed things from mutated mole rats to Raiders, the latter surprisingly tried to chew the skin right off your face. The ghouls were honestly the more frightening of the things you’d encountered. They looked too much like people, rabid and crazed, a frightening reminder of what radiation could do to you if you weren’t careful.

You were half-asleep on the couch when Preston came to you, his face stepping into view as he loomed over. You rolled your eyes shut, overlooking his sweet smile. “Let me guess. Another kitten needs rescuing from a tree surrounded by feral ghouls and I’m the girl for the job.”

Preston gave a soft laugh, a gentle kind of laugh that sounded like it belonged in the pre-war era. “No, not this time. I came to talk to you about the Minutemen.”

“Good. I think Dogmeat was starting to get a little resentful about the whole kitten thing.” You pushed yourself up off the couch, moving until you could sit hunched over on its edge. “Alright. I’m listening…”

“So, I guess you know I’m one of the last of the Minutemen.” His words wavered. Preston was an honest, too kind for this world sort of a man. He cared too much and the world seemed to leave him haunted. “But I never really told you what happened to us.”

You snorted and looked sharply over your shoulder at him. “You can’t seriously be the last one…”

Preston didn’t smile, his lips made no effort to be humorous. He was serious, deathly so about the faction he held in such high regard. “I’m sure there are former members out there somewhere who gave it up in disgust after the Quincy Massacre.”

Preston had talked with you about the incident a few times, usually over a meal or around the campfire. There was a heavy emphasis on ‘massacre’ and he’d lost a lot of good people along the way. You knew how it felt to lose people. Hell, you lost your entire family and all of your friends in one day. You lost your life… the only life you knew.

“Yeah, but…” You stood up and snagged one of the bottles of water from the coffee table. “Things have been looking up since then.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here to talk with you.” He set his musket down, one of the few times he ever really set it aside. He was always on alert, waiting for the other leg to drop. “I can’t lead the Minutemen but… I think you can.”

You laughed abruptly, snorted some of the water you were trying to swallow. “I don't know why you’d think that. I’m a terrible leader, trust me. I once tried to lead a hiking club back in college… They had to send in choppers just to get us all out.” You rolled your eyes with a sneer. “And then there was that paintball incident one year…”

Preston only stared. He was used to your antics by now but he still looked a bit perturbed. “You saved us in Concord. There wasn’t anything in it for you. You had your own problems to deal with. But you did it anyway.”

You gave a nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, another sip of the water.

“That kind of selflessness has been in mighty short supply around here for quite a while.” He stepped forward until you looked at him, took in the seriousness of his tone. “We need someone who can bring the whole Commonwealth together. And I think you’ve got it in you to be that leader.”

Your lips twitched, the brief happenings of a smile but it faded just as quickly. “I’ve got to find my son, Preston. I’ve been running around helping farmers instead of going out there and… looking for him…”

“You can still find your son…” He shifted his weight, hands growing animated the more desperate he became. “The more settlers devoted to our cause, the more people who are willing to help, the better it’ll be around here.”

You chose staring at the water in your hands over Preston’s eager puppy dog eyes. You set down the bottle and gave a nod. “Alright. Count me in.”

“Good. Good!” His voice took on a whole new delight, a tense free sound that you hadn’t heard from him yet. “Welcome aboard. I feel like this is a whole new start for the Minutemen and the Commonwealth, too.”

You threw up your hands, laughing at how chipper the man had suddenly become. “Hold on, Preston. Baby steps. I’ve only just joined. Don’t want to scare me off.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right beside you all the way, General.”

“General?” Your brows jolted at the title. “Does this mean I get a fancy office? Maybe my own tank? An army of war dogs at my disposal?” Your eyes grew suddenly wide, never passing up a chance to tease him. “I’ve always wanted a pet Deathclaw.”

“I’m afraid all you have right now is me.” He slowly made his way across the room, taking the musket back into hand. “But I wasn’t joking when I called you that. The leader of the Minutemen has always held the rank of General.”

You looked at him squarely, held your head a bit higher. “I’ll try not to… mess this up, too badly. I’m heading south, to look for answers… I’m taking Dogmeat but Codsworth will be around if you need him.”

He gave a firm nod of his head. “Of course, General. And if you happen upon any settlements that need our help…”

You lifted a hand, already knowing his request. “Don’t worry. I’ll stop to make sure all the kittens are accounted for.”

He gave a nod of his head, the slight tilt of his hat. “Good luck, General.”

~:~

You worked your way across the Commonwealth, following the trail of settlements you helped in previous weeks. They talked about Goodneighbor and Diamond City, rallying them off as the best places to search for answers. The last settlement gave you directions to each city and the closest had been half a day's walk.

Goodneighbor wasn’t at all what you expected especially not when some halfwit tried to extort you the moment you stepped through the door. I mean, damn, Finn could have tried to be a bit more subtle about it. Your impatient retort didn’t help his situation either, drawing the attentions of the town’s mayor.

Hancock berated him, a small exchange of complaints between the two that you didn’t entirely care about. After all, you walked through mutant infested streets and clusters of raiders just to get to the meager little city. One moment Hancock was extending his hand out to Finn while the other hand was reaching back for the knife on his belt. It only took a brief blink of the eye for the mayor to stab him in the gut.

He turned his eyes on you, unsettling black obsidian without a speck of white. His words were calm, a chilled coolness to them, “You alright there, sister?”

The corner of your lips tugged, a toss of your head as you playfully considered the corpse at his feet. “Let me guess… this is the safest city in the ‘Wealth?”

Hancock was the first sane ghoul you had encountered on your ‘journey’. If you could even consider his actions sane. Twisting a person’s arm right out in the open for others to see warranted a bit of justice. You just didn't expect something quite so forward.

Hancock smiled widely, a smile that reached his eyes. “Now, don’t let this incident taint your view of our little community.” His voice was smoky and smooth and if he hadn’t killed someone right in front of you, you might have melted to hear it. “Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone’s welcome.”

“Of the people, for the people?” You raised your chin a bit. “I like the sound of that.”

“Stay cool and you’ll be part of the neighborhood.” He took on a humorous tone, a hint of darkness, “So long as you remember who’s in charge.”

You rolled your gaze back down at Finn, the blood that pooled out of him, and raised a brow. “Certainly no arguments here.”

He stepped back, ready to disappear into the shadow of the alleyway he’d stepped out of until you called out his name. He looked over his shoulder, his marbled skin a soft pink beneath the city’s neon lights.

“I’m looking for someone… They were taken from me. Kidnapped.”

His steps were slow, cautious, the sign of a man who was used to being quick on his feet. He gave a low moan, considering his words before he spoke them, “Not sure what help I can offer you. If they were taken it was either Raiders or…” His attention averted, flickered briefly towards the stores set up at the entrance. “The Institute. They’re known for taking people but… hey, those are just rumors.”

You looked at the stores, finding Dogmeat eliciting attention from one of the drifters there. “The Institute?” You’d heard brief mentionings from settlers. They appeared to be nothing more than just a nightmarish villain conjured up by campfire stories. “Why would they kidnap…” You halted yourself, uncertain if you trusted anyone enough to know the whole story. You didn’t want people to know too much about your missing son.

“They take people. Replace them with synths.” Hancock crossed his arms over his chest, threw his weight back onto his hip. “A group of people… called the Railroad… they might have better answers.”

Your eyes slid shut, the retort biting off your tongue, “Railroad? Is their hideout a train? Subway station? Or are they led by a group of miscreant kids? Choo choo?”

His lips tugged into a grin. “Only hint I know about them is the Freedom Trail.”

You gave a meager, exhausted shake of your head. “What’s the Freedom Trail? Some sort of metaphorical spirituality crap?”

“Nah, nothing like that.” He stepped back, arms falling at his side. “If they want you, though, they’ll find you.” He gave a wink, a nod of his head, before parading off down the alley and out of sight.

You threw Dogmeat a heated glare but the pup was still feeding off the attention of a stranger. “Nice work, Dogmeat. Great guard dog material. Just in case you weren’t paying attention: I was in danger.”

The canine simply grinned cheerfully, tongue lolling out with delight to have someone ruffle his fur, someone who wasn’t trying to kill either of you.

You shambled towards the closest bench, half-falling back against the hard wooden bars and cold metal. Your eyes lingered on Finn’s corpse. The scavenger in you twitched to steal his gear and pawn it off to the watching merchant at the shop across the way. The small remnant of humanity in you told you to leave the dead man be. Then again, you reasoned, he did try to steal from you.

You leaned forward and pressed your skull into your hand. Dogmeat was at your feet in an instant, his muzzle sneaking past your arms to lick sloppily across your face. You turned your head away, wiping off the sticky spit. “Don’t try and butter me up. I know you cheated on me with that stranger.”

He gave his softest bark.

The drifter mocked a gasp. “What? I’ve been the ‘other man’ this entire time? And here I thought what we had was real.”

You couldn’t help the soft mutterings of a chuckle, your hands falling away to clasp together. “Dogmeat’s got love for everyone. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

He shrugged off of the wall, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his shirt. He sauntered forward and offered one between his fingers. “Here, pal, you look like you could use one of these.”

You took his offering with mild consideration. Goodneighbor wasn’t proving to be the light of hope you’d thought it be. “Don’t suppose you have a time machine in that pocket, too?”

He grinned, the city’s light glinting off the sleek black of his sunglasses. “Fresh out, I’m afraid. Sold my last one hours before you showed up.”

“Just my luck.” You spun the cigarette between your fingers, felt the smoothness of the paper. “I guess if you did have one, this sure as hell wouldn’t be the time of your choice.”

He gave a mild hum of consideration, stuffing the pack into the pocket of his plaid buttondown. His eyes were up on the dusky sky but the way he spoke, the tone, it told you his mind was elsewhere, “I don’t know. From where I’m standing… it’s looking pretty good.”

“Yeah…” You got to your feet, cigarette lifted into view. “Thanks for the smoke.”

“Anytime, pal…” He pressed his own between his lips, flip lighter searing the tip of it. “You should ask around about the Freedom Trail. Can’t say I know much about it myself…”

You glanced him over, the scuff of his boots and the worn edges of his shirt. “Thanks…”

He grabbed his cigarette, flicked some of the ashes off to the side.

“Come on, Dogmeat. Ten caps says a post-apocalyptic motel looks just as horrific... if not filled with slightly larger roaches.” You smirked at the cheerful pup as he hurried off to lead the way. You gave one last look to the drifter, your smirk growing to see his own. It was good to find someone else you could laugh with, that your snark didn’t appear off putting.


	4. Cloaks and Daggers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodneighbor finally gives up some of the Wealth's secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is soooo long. I've reread it at least a million times and now I'm giving up on reading it again XD; I hope I spelled most things correctly...

Hotel Rexford wasn’t the best place you had ever slept in but it sure as hell wasn’t the worst. The worst had to be that shell of metal covered in dried ghoul blood. The only thing that kept you sane during the night was having Dogmeat to cuddle with, the soft hushes of breathing and the hammering of his heart against your eardrum. His body heat was a delightfully added bonus.

You shifted the weight of your satchel while quietly descending the hotel stairs. You were making your way straight for the door when his raspy growl twitched your ears. “You! No, it can’t be… It’s you from Sanctuary Hills, right?”

Your body physically groaned, the thought of an argument ready to ensure. But when you swept your attention over towards him, took in his clean attire and Vault-Tec pre-war appearance. “You’re from Vault-Tec… That day...” The memories returned in clear pictures, his chipper and peppy grin, the excitement as he spoke of how glorious the Vault was going to be. Everything had been so bright, crisp greens and baby blues, the high afternoon sun beaming behind.

“I am Vault-Tec!” He spoke with acidic hatred, words hissing off the tip of his tongue and you were back in the dark, dingy hallway of the hotel. “Twenty-years of loyal service and now look at me… Because I wasn’t on the list to get into the Vault.”

It had been so chaotic then. You hadn’t cared about his situation while you were trying to get Nate and Shaun through the gate. You only cared about them. You only wanted to get them to safety. “I’m so sorry…”

“But you. Look at you! Two hundred years and you still look perfect!” His voice cracked, either from hatred or pain. “How’s that possible?”

“They froze us…” You rolled your eyes up to the ceiling. You hated talking about it for the hundredth time. You hated remembering it. It was almost becoming a redundant and boring fable. “We were inside of these… pods. I only just thawed out.”

“What? Vault-Tec never told me about that. Unbelievable.” He gritted his teeth, his lips pulled taut into a grimace. “Well I had to get to the future the hard way. Living through the… filth and decay.” His spoke softer, barely audible, “The bloodshed.”

Your voice softened as well, “But you’re alive.”

He hissed it, another spike of rage, “Look at me. I’m a ghoul. A freak!”

You wanted to make a joke of things, to spit out something snarky but… You kept quiet. Your tongue felt heavy, your lips thinning the more you thought about it. You could have lost Nate and Shaun both long ago. You could have ended up a ghoul, alone and shunned. But then you realized that Goodneighbor was ‘for the people’.

“You know you’re the only other person I met before… I, uh, I… Oh, God.” He dipped his head and pressed his palm against his eyes. “I’ve been so alone. No Commonwealth settlement wants a ghoul with 200 years of Vault-Tec sales experience.”

You almost gasped at the idea. “What about Sanctuary?”

“Back there with that crazy robot of yours…”

“There’s people living there now. A settlement.” You grinned almost childishly, enjoying the opportunity to help him find a home a little too much. “And I’ll visit all the time. Hell, I guess, I still technically live there.”

“Really? That’s…” He opened his mouth to speak but it took him a few more hapless breaths before he stated, “I’ll head that way now. And you’ll visit? You mean that?”

“Of course.” You grinned to see him brighten in such a way. He must have truly suffered being on his own like that. He seemed like such a chipper man back before the war. “Can I ask you something before you go?”

“Anything.” He even stepped closer. He was more than happy to help with what he could.

You took your time asking, trying to decide if you wanted to ask about the Railroad or the Institute. Did you want to ask about Shaun, as well? Of course he hadn’t seen your baby and even if he had… surely he wouldn’t have remembered it. “Have you heard of something called the Freedom Trail?”

“Freedom Trail?” He gave a mild nod of his head, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face. “It’s nearby I think. I’m not sure I know much else.”

You swallowed your anxiety. “Are there others? Ghouls from before the war who might know something?”

He somewhat growled it, the idea alone flustering him, “You mean crazy Kent and ‘nothing bothers me’ Daisy? Yeah, there’s a couple of us around here.”

You inhaled a deep breath. You were nearly jittery just thinking about how close you were getting to finding out answers. “Where might I find them?”

“Daisy’s Discounts. It’s the store when you first come in. And Kent?” He scoffed and gave a deep, hard frown. “He lives his life at that… Memory Den, reliving old memories.”

Memory Den… It was tempting, your heart quickening at the tantalizing notion that you might be able to relive just a small moment of your life before the war. That day at the park with Nate had been the happiest moment of your life. The sun dappled across his skin, the way it hit his eyes when he looked over at you and smiled.

You gave a few quick blinks of your eyes, clearing away the tears that began to form. “Thank you. I’ll see you in Sanctuary once I’m done here, alright?”

He somewhat sighed with relief and nodded. “Yes. I’ll see you there.”

~:~

You were stepping through the doors before you even processed it. The walls were deep mahogany and the dim lights gave the place a dark, mysterious atmosphere. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you were walking into an expensive restaurant. Too expensive for a post-apocalyptic nobody.

You fiddled with the idea but in the end you weren’t sure you could handle seeing their faces again. It seemed easier to try and forget everything, to let the past go as best as you could. The only thing that mattered now was surviving long enough to get Shaun back.

You approached the woman lounging in the chaise at the center of the main room, blonde hair glinting when she turned her attention towards you. Her ruby lips parted long before she spoke, voice soft and sultry as velvet, “Sorry, darling. The Memory Den isn’t accepting new clients at the moment.”

You sneered and lifted your shoulders. “Damn. And I really wanted to relive the moment when that atomic bomb fell.” You hesitated, words softening as if you were speaking some great secret, “I’m actually looking for someone. Kent, I think was his name. I heard he was alive before the war.”

“Kent? Oh sure.” She lifted her chin then curled her hand beneath it. “He’s in the room just over there.”

You looked over your shoulder then gave her a slight nod. “Thanks.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. You hoped for answers, for another person who somewhat understood your loss. Mostly, you hoped they knew where you could find the Freedom Trail. Or at least, point you to someone who did.

Kent was sitting down in the far corner at a desk with a radio on it. He was a ghoul as well, skin varying shades of pink and soft reds. Somehow he still looked young, younger than any of the other ghouls you had come across. His eyes, perhaps, were what held the naivety in them.

Your steps slowed, cautioun striking up after the recent weeks events. Having countless numbers of people try to kill you settled a weariness down in your bones. “Excuse me, Kent?”

He turned the radio off with a scoff and shake of his head, disapproving of something he must have heard.

You kept your distance from the man but as you looked over his shy, hunched over demeanor you knew he wasn’t a killer. “I was told you might be able to help me with something…”

His head whipped around, somewhat wide eyed. “Me?” Even his voice was youthful, somehow the sounds of a sweet child. “How could I help?”

“I’m looking for something called the Freedom Trail.” You shifted ever so slightly closer and allowed your eyes to take in the room. The strange Memory Den chair was tucked away in the corner, open and ready for someone to sit inside. You weren’t sure what science made the thing worked and you weren’t sure you wanted to find out.

“Freedom Trail? Oh sure. The Boston Commons.” He gave a slight giggle and closed his eyes. “We went there on a Field Trip one year. It’s just south of Goodneighbor.”

You almost groaned out loud. Of course the old Freedom Trail from before the war was still around. You didn’t realize people would still recognize the name, that some minor historical trail would still exist after two hundred years. Hell, you barely remember the place yourself.

“B-before you go, can I ask you a favor?” Kent leaned forward and repositioned himself in the small chair. “It’s nothing too much, I swear.”

You gave him a firm nod. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Goodneighbor’s crazy… Thefts, murders, worse. I just have to do something, you know?” His vision bobbed to the memorabilia along the wall. “The Silver Shroud. What if he was real?”

“The Silver Shroud…” You grinned widely, a laugh giggling free. You knew exactly who The Silver Shroud was. Your family had enjoyed each new tale when they first aired, a fantastical hero bringing justice to the world of crime. “So all we need is his black trench coat, silver submachine gun, and a manual on how to conjure fictional characters into the real world.”

Kent didn’t seem phased by your laugh. Perhaps he was used to it. “I’ve got a plan. So he can fight bad guys and give the rest of us a symbol of something better. I’ve even built a custom machine gun. Even better than the one on the show. But to make this work I still need one thing: the genuine Silver Shroud costume herself.”

“I’m guessing you know where to get one?” You weren’t exactly eager to hunt down a pre-war costume of a fictional hero but Kent looked like he’d lived through more than one hell. If he wanted to try and bring a hero into the world, who were you to argue?

“Before the bombs fell, they were filming the Silver Shroud pilot over at Hubris Comics.” He smiled widely, the widest smile you’d ever seen pre-war and post-apocalypse combined. “I can’t believe you’re really going to do this. You’re the best.”

You snorted. “Sure, kid. I’ll be back as soon as I get a hold of it.”

You were on your way through the den. You wouldn’t have stopped if you hadn’t caught the sight of sunglasses. You slowed your steps until you were lingering around one of the Memory chairs, the somewhat familiar look of the drifter as he lounged in the chair. You couldn’t be certain if it was him or not. Those sunglasses obscured so much of his face and his clothes were different. They were better taken care of than the driftter’s.

You glanced over at Dogmeat’s wagging tail and lolled tongue. Perhaps it was him but it wasn’t like it mattered. He was unconscious and your remarks about your new “quest” would have fallen on deaf ears. It would have been nice to have joked around with someone about the events.

~:~

Boston Common had once been beautiful beyond compare, a lush park that hosted a grove spindly willow trees that overlooked the swan boats gliding across the water. You’d been there on a few occasions, not quite as often as you would have liked. In the wake of the apocalypse, it wasn’t quite as grand but the walkways were still preserved as well as the gazebo across the way. The robot giving tours was just as intact, prattling on about the Freedom Trail’s sights.

And there it was, the red brick outline of the Freedom Trail as it guided its way up along the sidewalk. The bronze plaque in the cement had been there before the war but the red painted letter and number was new. You only half considered its existence until you followed the trail to the next plaque where a number and letter waited. The other had been 7 and A. This one appeared to be the number four and the letter L.

“Damn, Dogmeat. If I knew we were going to need to solve riddles, I’d have brought Codsworth with me.” You fiddled around with your gear, searching for anything to write with. You hadn’t really thought about bringing a pen and paper with you into the wasteland. “7, A, 4, L. 7, A, 4, L.”

You muttered it constantly, half singing it until you reached the next plaque. With each new plaque you lengthened your cadence, whispering it to yourself as you snuck past Raider outposts and the hideous bulky bodies of Super Mutants. The trail was fractured and broken in a few places. You found yourself crawling over top rubble piles and fallen buildings to find the red bricked trail on the other side.

“7, A, 4, L... 2, A, 6, O, 3, I... 5, R, 8, D...” You stepped before the last plaque, barely able to remember the jumbled mess of letters and numbers in your head. “1 and R.”

You glowered up from the plaque towards the old church and the statue of Paul Revere just out front of it. You muttered irritably, “7, A, 4, L, 2, A, 6… I know this… O, 3, I, 5, R, 8, D…” You glanced down at the last two again. “1, R. This better be useful…” You marched towards the church doors and without really considering how loud you were, you jerked them open and walked inside.

You had never been inside of the Old North Church, not that you could remember. Whatever it looked like before the war… was anyone’s guess. It looked like someone took a sledgehammer to all the pews and pulpits, collapsed columns and disfigured statues. You stepped over the fallen debris, shattered wood and crooked nails, the tattered remnants of mahogany carpet.

You heard something clatter on the other side of the church which halted you mid-step. You noted the raspy breathing of feral ghouls, a sound you were becoming far too familiar with. You reached for the rifle strap across your chest and lifted it above your head as slowly and quietly as possible. Their numbers aside, you didn’t want to alert them before you were ready to defend yourself.

You saw the first one shambling past a window and another curled up sleeping on the ground. You weighed your options then aimed the scope, released your breath slowly as you pulled taut the trigger. The rifle jerked but the bullet met its mark, knocking the ghoul to the floor and waking up the second. You aimed as the other startled to its feet, just bairly grazing the ghoul across the cheek as it raced towards you. You steadied your aim and fired again, watching the creature drop out of the view of your scope.

You lowered the gun and surveyed the damage, the ghoul crumpled a few feet away. Your ears strained to hear any more movement and when you heard none you crept forward. You were becoming pretty good at sneaking, having learned the best way to roll the balls of your feet and how best to distribute your weight between them. And if it hadn’t been for Preston’s pointers about using a gun, you might have missed entirely.

You found yourself at the basement door, taking the stairs into the lower levels until you were met with the grim maze of catacombs. The ghouls haunting its halls didn’t realize you were there until you fired the first shots, taking down the closest two ghouls to the entrance. But once those first pops echoed through the stone halls, every ghoul in the vicinity was making their way towards you.

The scuffing of their shoes and the snarls of their growls reverberated until you weren’t entirely sure which direction they were approaching from. It took everything in you not to run. You moved closer to the wall, closer to the shadows, and picked off each ghoul one after the other. You advanced further down the hall, sneaking from one corner to the next until every ghoul in the catacombs was dead in the grave.

When you reached the end of the trail you had hoped there was something profound, something that screamed “Railroad” or at least “this way to the front door”. You slipped the rifle strap over you head and secured the weapon to your back, glaring hopelessly at the bronze plaque on the door. It didn’t have the same markings as the others, no red letters painted onto its surface.

You tried to remember the series of numbers and letters again, “7, A, 4, L…” You looked from the plaque to the cord that streamed out of it. The cord followed along the way to the stone engraving that didn’t appear relevant to anything at all. “Dogmeat… Not gonna lie to you, kid, but I think… I’m ready to call this quits.”

The trusty canine didn’t pay you much attention, his nose securely pressed to the ground as he sniffed at every little pebble.

“What was that, Dogmeat? You think I should keep trying?” You gave an over dramatic sigh, the back of your hand pressing to your forehead. “That I couldn’t possibly give up after having come this far? Oh, Dogmeat, you’re probably right.”

He gave a whine, obviously aware you were talking about him.

“This is what happens when I spend most of my days with a dog…” You stepped towards the plaque once more, knowing there had to be some secret key to it all. Perhaps a button or switch was hidden somewhere? Your fingers moved across the cold stone in search of one and instead found the stone ring of words along its surface could move.

You narrowed your eyes, corner of lip pressed between teeth as you continued to move the center ring. You heard the distinct sound of a click echo when the letter R was directly below the arrow. “So, the first letter is R…” You rolled your eyes shut when a chord of irritation was struck. “R as in Railroad? I swear to god if the password is Railroad… And I just spent three hours memorizing letters and numbers for nothing…”

You twisted the ring, stopping on each correct letter and chuckling each time you were right. Of all the passwords for them to use. But you couldn’t deny the simplicity of it. At least no one could claim they forgot how to get through the door. And as you put in the last letter, the last click resounding, the heavy brick door opened.

Dust and dirt clouded the air, cloud your view of the entrance. You grabbed the pistol from your hip and stalked down the dark bleakness of the passageway. You just barely reached the end when the bright intensity of white light pierced your retinas. You shielded your eyes away but you knew they were pointing guns. You recognized the sound anywhere, especially now and days.

Her voice was firm, a woman used to giving orders, “Stop right there.”

The intensity of the light faded, your eyes adjusting quickly to the change.

She stood in the center between two people, both armed but the female as her side was particularly well armed with a minigun. “You went through a lot of trouble to arrange this meeting. But before we go any further, answer my questions.” Her tone darkened, arms folding rigidly across her chest. “Who the hell are you?”

You couldn’t decide how you wanted to reply to her. The honest truth would have been far too unbelievable for them to hear. And how would you have even worded it? That you were a pre-war scavenger daring the apocalyptic wasteland to find your son? Would you include the strange cryogenic pods while you were at it? Maybe even include that you had barely any idea what the Institute or the Railroad did?

“Me?” You smirked, pressing away the full blown grin that was trying to stretch across your lips. “Why don’t you tell me who you are first?”

“In a world full of suspicion, treachery, and hunters…” The tight grip her hands had on her arms softened, an ease settling across her visage. “We’re the synths only friends. We’re the Railroad. Now… answer my question.”

Perhaps it was your nerves, or the bitterness that the situation had placed in you, but you clung to your snark as best you could. You clung to it like a shield, not caring if you angered these strangers. “If I told you I was just some scavenger that happened to pass by and pressed a few buttons, would you believe me?”

“And you happened to guess the password to the secret door?” Her eyes narrowed as she tilted her head with bold annoyance. “Right.”

You lifted a wry shoulder, the curl on the corner of your mouth growing. “Well, using the name of your organization isn’t really much of a password.”

“So, you are aware of who we are.” She lifted her chin, the red tints of her hair shimmering ever so slightly under the different lights. “You’re clearly not with the Institute. Who told you how to contact us?”

You rolled your eyes off to the ceiling, pretending to deeply consider the names of the people who had helped you along the way. “Well, there was this guy… who knows a guy, who told me about a group... of really suspicious characters that might be able to help me take down the Institute. But then again, they might just point guns at me and tell me to leave.” You lifted your shoulder, skirting the edges of how far you could push her.

The tension in her returned, fingers digging into the softness of her arms. “This would go over easier if you’d take it more seriously.”

“Serious?” You ducked your head away, a poor attempt at hiding your sneer. “I haven’t been serious since I woke up to the apocalypse.”

She tossed her weight back and the hard pressed line of her lips told you that she wasn’t a person for games. Of course she wasn’t. They looked more ready for battle than a passing visitor. The Institute obviously wasn’t a joking matter.

You gave a disgruntled sigh. “Someone might have mentioned you could help me. I’d rather not say who.”

“We’ll find out one way or another… But, fine.” Her tone didn’t change but the subtle way she carried herself told you the tension lowered a degree. “I’m Desdemona, leader of the Railroad. And you are?”

His voice caught your attention instantly, his presence having slyly made its way to Desdemona’s side, “You’re all having a party? What gives, Dez? Don’t like inviting anyone fun?”

“Deacon.” Her eyes narrowed as she tossed him a fierce glare. Her attitude sharpened to irritation. “Where have you been?”

You couldn’t see much of his expression, the sunglasses obscuring his eyes from view but you could tell by the twitch on the edge of his lips and humor in his tone that he had the disposition Desdemona didn’t. He teased with hesitation, “Not at the party, it would seem.”

You smirked, delighting in the fact that all the tension was now on Deacon and not yourself. “I had to slay an army of ghouls just to get here. And there aren’t even any appetizers…”

Deacon chuckled, a soft and muffled sound. “Typical, Dez.”

“I’m insulted,” you delightfully added.

“Deacon.” She glowered, hands dropping to her side. “I need intel. Who is this?”

His slight, barely noticeable smirk was gone, a seriousness arising. “News flash, boss. This lady’s a pretty big deal out there.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Such a big deal. I can’t even make it past a single Raider camp without them wanting to snap a picture of me… with their rifles.”

“You’re practically famous.” He seemed unphased by your humor, letting it roll off of him with natural ease as he focused on the woman next to him. “She’s the general of the Minutemen. The whole ‘Wealth is practically flying her flag.”

You ignored how unsettling it was that Deacon had that knowledge. You’d only just became their ‘general’ a few days ago. “I prefer… Dark Lord General of the Supreme Commonwealth but… I guess you can call me General for short.”

“Like I said boss: pretty big deal.” He turned his attention back to you. You couldn’t be certain, not with his sunglasses covering up his eyes, but Deacon was sizing you up. He was determining for himself what kind of person you were.

If he was trying to figure you out, you’d make damn sure it was difficult. You kept the unwavering smile, the glint in your eyes. “I’m sure the Raiders stay up all night during their weekly sleepovers to tell stories about me.”

He didn't bother hiding his growing smirk. “I know I do.”

Desdemona crossed her arms again, tightening all of her tension through her grip. “I suppose that means you're vouching for this… comedian.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “What can I say? The post-apocalypse brings out my better half.”

He was firm, no longer jesting, “Trust me, Dez. You want her.”

“That changes things…” She tilted her head then swept her gaze over to you, still reluctant to give you much of anything, especially assistance. “So, tell me honestly, why did you come here looking for us?”

You tried to be serious as well, to let go of that constant need to sass. “The Institute owes me some… answers.” You folded your arms, just as determined to look confident. “I heard you’re the best ones to get them.”

“If we’re going to be dealing more with each other, I need to make sure we’re on the same page.” Her eyes were steady on yours, an unwavering determination in her. “You know what a synth is, right?”

Your brow jolted, the word fumbling, “Robots?”

“They’re more than that.” Her tone turned bitter again. “The Institute treats synths as property. As tools.”

You spoke gentler, softer because you sensed how devoted she was to her cause. “That sounds like slavery…”

“We seek to free the synths from their bondage. Give them a chance at a real life.” She threw her weight back onto her leg, hip pivoting. “I have a question. The only question that matters. Would you risk your life for your fellow man? Even if that man is a synth?”

“I don’t really care what they are.” Your eyes narrowed into slits, understanding exactly what she was getting at. “Synth or human… or ghoul.”

“Someone with your skills, your beliefs, normally we’d try and recruit you. But right now we don’t have the time to train up a new agent. There are, however, other ways you can contribute. And in turn, we can help you.” She shuffled away and turned towards the tunnel in the back. See Deacon for details. You’re free to go.”

You tossed your attention over towards the mysterious man and calmly walked over. He had made his way down the ramp earlier, waiting patiently for your debate with Desdemona to be over with. The curl on his lips told you the conversation, to him, had been an amusing one.

“Hope you didn’t mind the reception.” His voice was deep and far too relaxed. “When you tango with the Institute, you gotta be careful when someone new gets on the dance floor.”

“Oh good, I was hoping to join a dance club. I heard it’s good for your thighs.” You folded your arms and gave a shrug of your shoulders. “But I get it. Secrecy is… key.”

“Kind of killed our chances at a friendly first impression, though. But it’s all good now.” His head tilted as you waltzed towards him, the dim light in the cavern reflecting off of his black sunglasses. “I vouched for you. Nobody got shot. Still… I would consider it a close personal favor if you didn’t sell us out to the Institute.

“If I could find the Institute to sell you out…” You gazed off to the side, glancing at Dogmeat as he sniffed the dusty tombs. “I’d be at their door blowing it up.”

“Let me know when you do. I know someone who makes a real nasty bomb.” Deacon tossed his attention towards the empty space where Desdemona and the others had been standing. “So, Dez, wants me to make you a tourist. That’s what we call someone who helps out with the odd job here and there. What a waste.”

“A waste?” You laughed too abruptly to stop yourself. “Weren’t you the one who vouched for me?”

“I’m just going to come out and say this: the Railroad needs you. We need you working the real jobs.”

You could tell he was being serious but you just didn’t have it in you to be serious back. “You sure? After having a machine gun aimed at me I’m sort of reconsidering this whole… cloak and dagger facade.”

“If you were some hick from the burbs that didn’t know your ass from a rocket launcher, I would send you on your way. But I’m betting someone like you just needs a few pointers and a target.”

“Betting? I like the sound of that. We talking ten caps? Twenty?”

“Sorry, pal. I only bet on Tuesdays. Damn…” He tilted his head with a smirk. “Is it Tuesday?”

“Since the apocalypse, I haven’t really been keeping track.”

“Listen, I’ve got a job. Too big for me. Just perfect for the two of us. You help me out, we turn a few heads, and Dez lets you into the fold.”

Your brow rose, still surprised at how interested Deacon was. He barely knew you. Or rather, you thought he barely knew you. “What exactly is this little duet you have planned?”

Something quirked in his expression, something you said that he liked. “So upfront, the only thing I’ll say is it’s probably going to be a wild and dangerous ride. But probably nothing new to someone like you.”

“Wild and Dangerous? Those are… Not my middle names. But, find me a judge and I can change that. I’ll take Wild if you take Dangerous.”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m more the Wild card and you’re my Dangerous better half.”

“Well, certainly can’t argue with ‘better’.”

His lips widened into a toothy smile. “Perfecto. We should head to the old freeway outside of Lexington.”

You gave a long hum of consideration, a reluctance when you remembered your promise to Kent. “I’ll have to meet you there. I’ve got… another job I need to do. Hubris Comics, just around the corner.”

He raised a brow at you, the tilt of his sunglasses just barely giving you a glimpse of his eyebrows. “I’m as big a fan of Grognak as the next person--”

“It’s for someone else.” You rolled your eyes playfully and sauntered towards the tunnel you’d entered through. “They asked if I’d stop there and grab a few things.”

“Oh, sure. Milk, eggs, butter. While you’re out, mind grabbing me some Fancy Lads?”

You tossed him a quick wink before calling Dogmeat to your side.


	5. The Soft Blues of Night

When you entered Hubris Comics you didn’t exactly know what to expect. A decrepit building: check. Half burned comic books: check. A small pack of feral ghouls: sort of check. The giant illuminating green ghoul that leapt out from nowhere… Well… it was new, that’s for sure. Maybe not all that surprising since it seemed like the new world was always taking the dangerous and amping it up to the next level.

You pumped the last of your shotgun ammo into it, slowing it down until you could put some distance between it and yourself. But damn the thing was fast. It leapt forward and you only just barely dodged it. You threw the shotgun across the floor and aimed the rifle that was at your back. But the glowing ghoul snatched hold of the barrel and shoved it away. Your bullet grazed it's neck, the second bullet missing entirely.

It lunged forward and all you could see was neon green. You stumbled away, to aim as best you could, but you lost your footing. You fell backwards with the creature, it's hissing and snarling only barely able to drown out the sounds of your pipboy’s Geiger counter.

The rifle was knocked out of your hand, your finger weakly squeezing off another shot. You gritted your teeth, constantly shoving it away but your arms were growing tired and it's skin was slick and mushy. Dogmeat’s growling and nipping teeth didn’t seem to phase it either. In fact, the ghoul was moments away from sinking its teeth into the side of your face when a gunshot reverberated in the cavernous room.

The next gunshot tossed the ghoul off of you and for a moment you thought it was dead and over with. But a snarl rolled from its throat and it was enough to convince you to grab hold of the rifle again. You emptied your clip into its skull, the floors and walls splattering with iridescent neon greens.

“You know that clicking sound…” He walked further into the room, sunglasses and cowboy hat, a plaid shirt buttoned up over his white tee. “That means we should probably get the hell out of here. Unless, you know, you like radiation burns… No judgement if you do.”

“What?” Your laugh rolled out too quickly, breathy and slightly nervous. Your body falling limp against the floor. “And here I thought my Pipboy came with a purring kitten function.”

“I guess they didn’t exactly give you the manual back in the Vault when things went sideways.”

You sat up, nearly cringing at the dull pain that pulsed across muscles and bones. “What makes you think I came from a Vault? Maybe I looted it off of someone’s corpse.”

Deacon smirked, as if he knew more than he was letting on. “You’re not the type. ‘Sides, you’ve got prewar written all over you.”

You jokingly looked over your body. “Damn it, I thought I erased all of that...” You staggered up onto your feet, Dogmeat rushing over just to make sure you weren’t seriously wounded. You dropped your hand onto his head, ruffling up the soft fur.

“Not to be the bearer of bad…” Deacon quietly shuffled forward, a glance over his shoulder towards the stairs. “But I think our friends downstairs might be alive again.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course they were alive again.

You worked your way across the room, past decrepit cameras and busted lights to the Silver Shroud costume posted elegantly on a manikin. “You know, just once, I want to go somewhere nice that doesn’t have a strange creature trying to kill me.”

“Let me know when you find a place. I think I need a serious vacation.”

“You and me both, kid.” You pried the suit off of its pedestal, the material surprisingly thick and in mint condition. You folded it up neatly and stuffed it into your sack. With another quick look around the room you found the Silver Shroud’s toy machine gun and a Grognak costume.

Deacon chuckled when you held the loincloth up for display. “Just say the word and I’ll run through Diamond City wearing that and a party hat.”

You tossed him a quick wink while shoving the costume into your bag. “Ooh. Tempting. Speaking of which, nice little getup you’ve got going there. You forget your hair at home?”

He gave a wide toothy grin. “It’s wastelander camo.” He tilted his chin down, the dim light glinting from his sunglasses. His voice deepened, somehow raspier than before, “This is my pile of garbage, asshole. Back off.”

You snorted, an uncontrollable laugh that racked your chest and stomach. You couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed so hard. Your hand grasped your stomach as you chuckled, “I love it. That’s the greatest thing… I’ve ever seen.”

Deacon smiled wide, making all his other smiles look practiced and fake. “Good, right? You’re lucky I didn’t do one of my face swaps, too.”

You reached out and shoved his shoulder. “Shut up! There’s no way you change your face.”

“I put myself under the knife every year or two.” His smile returned to his typical practiced smirk. “New face, new body. You know, the full makeover. It keeps our enemies guessing.”

You hardly believed it and yet he looked so sincere and honest about it. Then it suddenly dawned on you: the sunglasses, the subtle joking, the way he made your lips quirk into a smile… You knew it had to have been him back there in Goodneighbor and in the Memory Den. You couldn’t say for certain if he was stalking you but he did somehow know you were the General long before others.

You only grinned then, sashaying past him towards the ladder in the back of the space. “Let’s see what's behind door number two, shall we?”

Deacon must have noted the change in your demeanor but he sounded just as teasing as before, “Honestly, I always pick door number three but… I guess I’m willing to make an adjustment.”

“Mind handing me Dogmeat when I get up there?” You climbed onto the rusted and cold ladder, hauling yourself up to the heavy steel door and shoving it wide open. You poked your head out and found the roof completely empty, the chilly night air whistling across your skin. After a closer look around, a brief walk, you honestly had to say it was probably the safest place you’d been in a while.

You leaned back into the door just as Deacon was gathering the large German Shepherd into his arms. “Not to offend your honor, Dogmeat, but you might want to lay off the canned foods.” He shoved the canine forward and Dogmeat was clever enough to leapt off the metal bar and into your arms. You pulled him the rest of the way, letting him scurry safely onto the roof.

Once Deacon was up the ladder and the door was securely closed, you dropped your gear down onto it and tossed aside your scarf and hat. “We should camp here for the night. I’ll take first watch.”

Deacon strolled the area, taking note of the perimeter and the surrounding buildings. You could tell he clearly didn’t sit well with the idea but he didn’t speak up about his uncertainty either. Dogmeat wasn’t bothered at all, lying down on your thrown pack before you even had the chance to call dibs. Clever pup, you thought, tossing him a quick glare.

You sat down, spine against the closest wall and knees pulled loosely to your chest. When Deacon finally settled down next to you against the wall, your eyes took in just how lovely a sight the city was at night. You hadn’t really stopped to admire the view since leaving the Vault. It had been one arduous journey after the next. Dogmeat could corroborate the number of times the two of you had slept in some half dug out hole in the ground. If Dogmeat could talk.

“Before the apocalypse, you couldn’t even see the Milky Way.” You gave a few nonchalant nods of your head, your tone somehow sounding more melancholy than you intended. “Hell, you could barely see the constellations. I guess that's one good thing about the world ending.”

Deacon spoke just as softly, just as seriously if not more gentler, “Before the apocalypse, huh… Sounds like quite the trip through time.”

The corner of your mouth quirked. You took a quick peek at Deacon before sliding your gaze back to night sky. “You ever get a hold of any more of those time machines? I’ve had a serious hankering for one.”

He snorted, not at all surprised that you knew. “Damn. I knew I missed something on my inventory checklist.”

You feigned a heavy sigh, rolling your eyes over to him. “Guess there’s no better time like the present. Unless, of course, it's not.” Your hand reached out and patted his knee, a subconscious gesture that occurred before you realized it was happening. You cautiously took your hand back and draped your arms over your knees. “Get some sleep. I’ve got first watch, remember.”

“We’re on a rooftop, pal,” he complained jokingly. “We’re pretty much prime real estate for sniper training.”

“With a view like that…” You settled your attention back to the stars dusted across the bleak darkness, the way they trailed more tightly together along a streak that stretched from one horizon to the next. “They’ll wait ‘till morning.”

Deacon sighed in agreement before casually dipping his hat down over his face.

You peered over at him, taking in the way he sat rigidly against the wall as if he were waiting for the next attack. You glanced over at Dogmeat and his soft snoring. They looked somewhat peaceful, basking in the soft blues of night, easily closing their eyes and sleeping.

You didn’t take first watch because you wanted to keep an eye on the baddies. You knew if you tried to sleep it would have taken you hours just to close your eyes. And those stars, distant specks that somehow shone brighter in the aftermath of the nuclear bomb… There was just something about them that made your eyes water, your arms to slip around your knees and hug them tighter. Your rubbed your cheek against your pants and wiped the tears clean.

You felt childish in that moment but, damn, did you miss the old world.

~:~

Deacon led the way through the city and across the bridge. You were heading back north, that much you could tell. Northeast if you were being specific. Another day or so of travel and you’d have come full circle and made your way back to Sanctuary.

“So about the job…” Deacon spoke over his shoulder before facing forward again, “The Railroad’s only recently been using the Old North Church. Our old base was underneath a Slocum’s Joe. We had a pretty sweet setup until the Institute found us.”

“Sweet,” you chortled. “Sweet setup…” You nudged him with your elbow, smile wide across your face. “‘Cause it's a doughnut shop…” You cleared your throat, trying to return to a bridled seriousness. “So, a doughnut shop, huh?”

Deacon tried to be serious as well but you heard the slight lilt of a laugh, “It’s a lot better than it sounds. Well it was until it was blown to hell.”

You gave a hum of delight. “Doughnut shrapnel. My favorite.”

“Yours and mine both. You know, when it's not your secret hideout that is.” His lips quirked, and you were certain he was eyeing you from behind his sunglasses. “It was a disaster with a capital D.”

You gave a toothy smile when you realized he set himself up for that one on purpose. “Would you hate me if I said D for Doughnut? Cause I kind of hate myself for it…”

His grinned stayed, the best part about Deacon. “We’re heading back there to collect something important that was left behind during the evac.” He trudged up the hillside towards the collapsed freeway, cars still trapped up there after the bomb went off. “We’ve got a tourist nearby. He or she has Intel on the base. So let's pump them for information before we dive in.”

You eyed the fallen road that stacked up to make the perfect walkway towards the structure above. “Lead the way, spymaster.”

He began the awkward climb up the fallen ramp, moving easily past stacked cars and flung open doors. “So I’m looking for railsigns. Symbols we use to send information to each other.”

“Very cloak and daggery. I like it.”

His tone deepened, taking on a playful sultriness, “If you like that, we’ve got signs and countersigns, dead drops, and even a secret handshake…” His lips twitched into a smirk. “Alright, maybe the secret handshake never really caught on.”

“I’m a sucker for wacky handshakes.” You climbed over cluttered ruble with Deacon, taking the time to help each other. “We should have a handshake, just between the two of us… It’ll really throw off our enemies.”

“I’m willing if you are.” His steps slowed as he approached a rusting car and the cement block next to it. “Alright, our tourist should have left a trail for us…” He nudged his chin towards the rough chalk drawing. “That arrow in the middle tells us direction. So our tourist is up ahead. Let’s keep going.”

You followed after him, your boots scuffing against pebbles and dusted rubble. “So, Deeks, why did you really vouch for me?”

“In our little outfit, it's my job to know things.” He gave a quick glance over his shoulder but his gaze quickly returned ahead, a need to know his surroundings at all times. “And with everything you’ve done, it's clear your capable. A dangerous enemy. And, I’m betting, a valuable ally.”

You huffed disbelievingly. “You're part of a secret organization… Why trust me at all?”

“I dunno if we can trust you… But I hope we can.” Deacon stopped and gave you his full attention. “We just survived a hell of a crisis. So we may just be a teeny, weeny bit desperate for new members.”

“Really?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “I show up at your secret hideout, crack open your secret door, and you just… happen to let me in because, I what, helped a few settlements?”

Deacon laughed, “You don’t give up, do you?” He smiled and tilted his head before rolling his attention elsewhere. “Alright, I have a short list of people I think would be a good fit for our family. You piqued my interest. So, maybe I asked around, did my homework. If you hadn’t found us--”

“Explains why you followed me around Goodneighbor…” You peered up at him, loving the way Deacon always had a come back for everything you said.

“Followed?” He gave a mocking sound of deep consideration. “I'd call it more like… prospect interviewing.”

“Not much of an interview. You didn't even ask me what my hobbies were.”

His brow rose with corner of his mouth, hardly believing how easily you rolled with the situation.

“It’s seeing how many boxes of Sugar Bombs I can eat within an hour.” You gave a sidelong look over at Dogmeat. “I’d have beaten the record if somebody hadn’t eaten the last box.”

The canine gave you quick look, ears quirking when he realized he was suddenly thrown into the conversation.

Deacon chuckled as he started up the path again. Just hearing him laugh, to hear anyone laugh, settled an unspeakable relief in your gut. He stated it, a toss of his hand towards the chalk. “More railsigns. We’re getting close.” Deacon followed the freeway, helping pick off ghouls and wild dogs that dared to attack. His steps slowed upon reaching another bus and another chalk drawing. “You see that plus in the center. That means an ally’s nearby. Our tourist.”

“So this tourist…” You eyed the surrounding area, giving Dogmeat a brief glance as he sniffed around some rubble. “You’ve never met them before? We’re just… going in there and trusting them?”

Deacon grinned, liking something about what you said as he tossed a hand towards the man up ahead. “You take point on the conversation. No matter what he says just say, ‘Mine is in the shop.’ Trust me.”

You didn’t like the sound of it but you were willing to trust Deacon for now. He hadn’t led you astray yet and he did save your life back there in Hubris Comics. You walked ahead of him but you took your time, assessing if there was anyone else in the area around the tourist. Everything seemed pretty clear, no one around to start an ambush.

Your nerves settled until the man turned around, shouting in panic, “Oh thank god! Do you have a Geiger counter? Do you have a goddamn Geiger counter?”

Your brows pinched and you even stepped back a bit, giving the ranting fool a bit of space. But Deacon had told you what to do and he didn’t seem worried which meant this was all apart of the game. You even so much as gave the man a wink, “Sorry, friend, mine’s in the shop.”

He tossed a hand over towards Deacon. “Who the hell’s he? HQ said they were sending one agent. Not two!”

“Sorry. I’m new.” Deacon spoke gently, another of his facades falling easily into place. “She’s just showing me the ropes.”

“Right…” He didn’t seem convinced but he dropped his full heated attention back to you. “The Wall as my witness, I thought I was dead! It's about time you headquarter bastards got here.”

You wanted to snap back at him, to make a heated and sarcastic retort, because hell you weren’t even officially apart of headquarters. But the man looked more rattled and scared than angry. “Calm down. You're safe now.”

“You think I’m goddamn safe? That Slocum's Joe of yours is crawling with those goddamn chrome-dome synth sons of bitches.”

You tossed a wry shoulder. “I’m guessing ‘goddamn’ is your favorite word?”

“The front is fortified to hell and back,” he snarled without missing a beat, “They’ve placed mines all over the goddamn place.”

“Thanks.” You tried to smile, tried to be sweet, but it took more effort than you wanted to expend. “You did good work.”

His anger softened quite a bit, his tone completely changing, “I hope it helps. I really do. As soon as it's safe, I’m getting the hell out of here.”

You gave him a firm nod then turned sharply on your heel and stalked off. Deacon had been clever enough to make his way back towards where the two of you had come from. His smile was sympathetic, words bordering on snarky, “Well, isn’t Ricky just a ray of sunshine… You think he’s telling the truth?”

You raised a shoulder, peeking a glance back at the man. “He doesn’t strike me as the dishonest type. He seemed genuinely afraid. So, something certainly set him off.”

“That was my read, too. First rule in this business is never go against your gut.” Deacon’s visage changed quickly, a mask that he switched out without hesitation. “So, if we take him at his word… the front has mines, synths, and other exciting prizes!”

“Don’t get me wrong, I like prizes but…” You quirked your lips and shook your head. “I think this time, I’ll pass.”

Deacon gave a quick nod. “So, we go through the escape tunnel.”

“It’s gotta be easier than a frontal assault.” You leered down at Dogmeat, considering how dangerous it would be for him to be out in the open with gunfire. Maybe it was time you and Dogmeat had a heart to heart talk about him settling down and having pups.

“Easier but… no cakewalk.”

“Damn it.” You groaned childishly. “I was hoping there’d be cake.”

“Fancy Lads definitely would have made this day worth it.”

“I think I saw a Red Rocket back there somewhere. They’re bound to have a pack lying around.” You shoved your elbow playfully into his side. “After our secret operation, of course.”

The corner of his mouth curled slightly as he tossed a hand down the freeway. “Lead us there, pal. I’ve got you covered.”


	6. Charming and Charmed

It wasn’t exactly the easiest mission you’d ever been on. In fact, it was probably the most unsettling thing you’d ever done. Sneaking was… easy. That was the first skill you picked up during your travels across the Commonwealth. You learned to sneak past Raiders, Ghouls, and the sharp senses of Mutant Hounds. So sneaking through the underground tunnels was the easy part.

It was being in the line of fire from the mechanical Synths that troubled you, the robots and their ruthlessness in slaughtering anything that got in their way. You forced Dogmeat to keep his distance, ordered him to stay behind as Deacon and you advanced forward. His claws and fangs would be useless against chrome and titanium anyway.

By the time you reached the actual base, hacking through two sets of computers, you were covered in sweat and the scarf around your throat was suffocating. Deacon must have sensed your reluctance to continue. He sat down against the wall and patted the spot next to him.

You sat down too, shoving your spine into the hard surface to remind yourself of the physical world. “So, Synths, huh? Remind me to write a friendly letter to the Institute. To whom it may concern… Your Synths need lessons in etiquette. Deactivation would be appreciated. Sincerely, a concerned fucking citizen.”

“You can’t deny its… generous perspective.”

“Generous? I was mostly going for ‘annoyed’ and ‘bitter’.”

Deacon chuckled, his shoulder pressing into yours. “We’re almost there, pal.”

You prepared yourself mentally. You moved forward through the rest of the building. You cleared away the remaining Synths, always making sure Deacon was close behind and Dogmeat was safely tucked away during each heated battle.

Deacon kneeled down next to one of the corpses, one of the many that littered the ground along the way. This one was different. Deacon’s hand curled around the man’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Tommy Whispers,” he stated over his shoulder. “He died protecting our secrets.”

You knew this man was important to him somehow or at least meant something to him at one point. “I’m sorry, Deacon. It’s… never easy losing someone you care about.”

His hand slipped away from the man’s shoulder. He checked his gear for anything essential and grabbed hold of the pistol on his belt. He looked at the gun before rising to his feet. “The prototype should be around here somewhere.” He stalked forward, knowing exactly which shelf he saw it last. “You turn that over to Desdemona and she’ll have to let you in our merry little band.”

You grabbed the device but there was something different about Deacon in that moment. Something unsettled him and it was subtle, something you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been looking for it. You smiled widely, showing off every tooth. “Fancy Lads, first. You promised me cake, remember.”

He snorted, snatching up your hand and placing the pistol into it as well. “Take this, too. Tommy would want you to have his handcanon. Don’t let its size fool you.”

Your attention jolted to Whispers and then to the gun. “You sure about this?”

“More than ever, pal. It's powerful and more importantly quiet.” He grinned a bit when he started to speak again, something delightful in his tone, “Tinker Tom restored it. It’s cutting edge Old World tech. You won't find another weapon like it.”

You spoke it sincerely, eyes resting on his, “Thank you, Deacon.”

He chuckled, shaking off the seriousness in the air. “Elevator?”

You headed further into the room and towards the elevator. It was strange waiting for the doors to open as if you were back before the bombs fell. You could even hear the elevator’s personal intercom speaking the closer the elevator got. The doors slid open, only groaning a slight amount before you stepped inside. Even the ride up was a familiar and sickening deja vu.

There were Synths above ground but they weren’t expecting an attack from behind the front lines. Deacon and you managed to kill them off quickly, shooting out the turrets that were set up on the upper floors. Walking out into the Massachusetts air, the wind cooling the sweat along your face and neck, was a greater relief than you realized.

The closest diner had a few wandering roaches that were easily killed with a few well placed shots. They hadn’t touched the numerous packages of snack cakes so when you found them, you tossed a pack over to Deacon before greedily stuffing the rest safely into your bag.

You opened up your own, the scent of sugar hitting your nose. “They don’t taste quite as good as they used to but… can’t deny a good snack cake.” You shoved a large bite into your mouth, muffling, “And there are so many of them.”

Deacon sat down onto a tabletop, his feet propped up in a chair.

You joined him on the table, swallowing down your bite. “Dogmeat and I had quite a few for dinner the past few nights. Of course... we were using a refrigerator for a bed so… there were a ton in there.”

He turned the packaged cake in his hand, fingers crinkling into the plastic. “So, you miss it?”

“What? Sleeping in a refrigerator?” You chortled. “No.”

Deacon grinned, toothily like a dork before shoving his shoulder against yours. “Charming as always, pal…”

“That’s me. All charm.” You playfully pushed back, glad to finally see the happier side to Deacon again. You craved it more than you wanted to admit, the smiles and laughs, the companionship. It was the first time you actually wanted someone to tag along while you dealt with the new world. “I miss…” You sighed heavily, chest heaving out the weight that pressed against it suddenly. “Green. All of it. The green grass. The green leaves. Just… how stupidly pretty everything was.”

He finally pried open the package and took a bite from the spongy yellow cake. “If you like, I know where to get some green paint.” He looked over at you, the dark tint of his sunglasses reflecting the world back at you in glossy hues.

You laughed. You laid back against the table, your giggling slowly subsiding. “You plan on painting every tree we run across?”

“Like its hard?” He leaned his weight back against his hand, shoulder rising to press into his cheek. “How many trees could there be left? We’ll just paint from roots to branches… you won’t even be able to see the difference.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.” You abruptly sat up and just as Deacon was about to take his next bite you shoved the cake forward, smashing it into his mouth and nose.

Deacon was shocked, brushing his thumb across the cream that covered his face. “Oh, pal, it’s on.” He went to shove the cake forward into you but you were quicker than he was.

Your laughter bubbled out of you as you leapt from the table and sprinted towards a rusted and decrepit car. “C’mon, Deacon. You look good like that. It could be a new disguise.”

Dogmeat was on his feet, the commotion between the two of you drawing out his playful energy. He was barking and leaping, attention bobbing between yours and Deacon’s laughter, unable to decide who he wanted to run to.

“Sure. It's… ‘great disguise’ now until we’re knee deep in bullet casings.” He ate what was left of the squashed cake, being sure to do so with feigned rage.

“Hey, I’ll take bullets to ghouls any day.” You leapt down off the hood of the car.

“Bullets to ghouls,” he snorted. “That could be our band name.”

“Yeah, sure, we’ll play nightly at the local Raider camps.”

“Your charms… my smiles…” Deacon stuffed the remaining snack cake into his coat pocket, sauntering with you back towards the bridge leading into Boston. “We’d make quite the duo…”

You chortled, rolling your eyes at him. “The Commonwealth wouldn’t know what to make of us.” You fell in step next to him, pulling one of the cakes from your pack, your gaze sliding down at Dogmeat with his tongue lolled out. You pried away the plastic and tossed him the sweet treat, letting him gobble it up in a few snaps of his jaws.

~:~

Deacon took lead when you entered back into the Old North Church and you let him. You weren’t all that eager to have someone point a minigun at you again. He gave you one of his grins, hinting at his mischievous nature. “Give me a moment with Dez. A little… persuasion and you’re in.”

You rolled your eyes at him but leaned your shoulder into the brick wall of the underground crypt. You watched him saunter down the tunnel, his fingers working at the plaid button down. You just barely caught a glimpse of him pulling it off when the shadows took him. You waited a few breaths, slipping your fingers into Dogmeat’s soft fur. He needed a bath, dirt and grime making it oilier than you remembered. Hell, you needed a good bath. You weren’t sure if nuclear fallout was starting to smell good or if your sense of smell had been irradiated away.

“Come on, boy. Let’s see how this goes…” You pushed off the wall and followed the tunnel system. You rounded the corner, light spilling out of the foyer you had been in earlier.

Deacon was up on the platform with Desdemona. He must have tossed aside his ‘wastelander camo’ along the way for his weathered t-shirt and jeans. He spoke with enthusiasm, hands flying to place emphasis on the story. “And the new girl patched me up, put me on her shoulder, and blasted her way through the rest of the complex. Synths everywhere.”

Desdemona was weary, cocked head and raised brow, “Carrying you the whole time?”

“Amazing, right?” Deacon caught sight of your movements, turning his head so that he could smile gingerly at you

“That’s one word for it.” She looked you over skeptically as you climbed the steps up to the dirty crypt floor. “Deacon told me you single-handedly secured Carrington’s prototype, disabled a minefield, and wiped out a hundred Gen 1s.” She pressed her lips thin, daring you to lie to her. “So... is any of that true?”

You’d always been good at lying even before the apocalypse. It rolled from the tip of your tongue without hesitation, “Every word of it and then some.” You shrugged a shoulder, a toss of your hand as if it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Desdemona sounded shocked, suddenly believing both you and Deacon. “A full hundred. I… I can’t even imagine.”

Deacon threw out his hands. “See? Just like I said boss.”

Her words softened, no longer the harsh bitterness that she maintained since meeting with you. Even her features softened a bit. “I was expecting Deacon to grab a full team, including Glory, to secure that prototype. But instead just the two of you cleared out the entire switchboard… by yourselves...”

He grabbed hold of your shoulder, squeezing it tenderly. “You’d be insane not to sign her up, Dez.”

“You’ve certainly made an impression on Deacon.” She tossed him her glower, not buying anything he was saying at all. “He’s never spoken about, or lied about, anyone so highly before.” Her sigh came quick, submission to recent events that had transpired. “Welcome to the Railroad, agent.”

“Does this mean I can finally get my own train?” You chuckled at the annoyance that flashed over her features. “I’m glad to be... aboard.”

Deacon snorted at the pun. “Charming train of thought…”

She rolled her eyes, the annoyance replaced with complacency. She was used to it by now, especially after having Deacon around so often. “It seems we’re very lucky to have you.” Her arms folded across her chest as she took down a slow deep breath. “So you’re in. Now we need to know what to call you. Secrecy keeps us alive. Code names are a part of that. So what’s yours?”

Your lips tugged into a smirk as you posted your arm onto Deacon’s shoulder. You gave him a sidelong look, taking in the subtle curl on the corner of his mouth. “Call me Charmer…”

“Charmer, huh? It’s certainly... a fitting name,” Dez retorted, having experienced your ‘charms’ first hand. “Your first official order is to deliver Doctor Carrington's prototype and see if he needs an extra pair of hands. But first it's time to meet the rest of the gang.”

“I love meeting new people.” You flashed Deacon a smile, catching only the briefest hint of a laugh before he ducked his head away.

Desdemona walked off and motioned you to follow her down the tunnel. “The location of our HQ is one of our most tightly guarded secrets. So be careful coming in or out. You never can tell when you’re being watched.” She pushed open a slightly battered door, boots scuffing across stone as she descended steps that led deeper into the tunnel. Up ahead there was candlelight, yellow and orange hues flickering across the mahogany brick walls.

“Very cloak and dagger,” you muttered, hardly sure if Dez even heard you.

“This is it. It may lack the amenities of the Switchboard but it's safe. And we’ve taken precautions to not be taken by surprise again. Things are chaotic right now so there's plenty for you to do.”

Your steps slowed as the tunnel opened up, a wide expansive room lined with a row of sarcophagus on either side of the walkway. You flicked your attention over your shoulder, strangely finding yourself seeking out Deacon. He was becoming an anchor, a comfort, someone who provided you a sense of normalcy.

“Listen up…” Desdemona drew your attention and everyone else in the room. They slowly gathered together, their impatient gazes on her until she tossed a hand towards you. “This is Charmer. She did the Switchboard with Deacon. She’s a full agent effective immediately. I’m counting on each of you to show her the ropes. Feel free to welcome her aboard.” She gave a curt nod. “That is all.”

“Welcome to the family,” Deacon jeered, slipping up next to you. “We’re a colorful and arguably insane bunch but you’re stuck with us now. Speaking of which, if you don’t mind a… side-kick let’s keep a good thing going and travel some more.”

“Oh? And here I thought you’d want to stay close to home after I had to carry you over my shoulder.” You peered over at him, watching the corner of his mouth jolt but you couldn’t be certain if it was a smile or a frown. “Besides, won’t they need you here?”

“My job’s mostly Intel. So the more places I go the better I’m doing it.” This time his lips pulled wide, teeth shining in the dim candle light. “And you’re just one big beautiful distraction. Plenty of opportunities to learn secrets moving around in your shadow.”

You grinned proudly, turning on your heel until you were facing him. “Beautiful distraction, huh? Does this mean you’re not hanging around me just for my standup comedy?”

“Ah… it's our newest agent.” His lab coat, dusted and fringed on the edges came into view, his approach not subtle at all.

“Doc Carrington,” Deacon somewhat mumbled under his breath, more for your benefit than a greeting.

“Oh, Desdemona told me to give you this.” You shifted the weight of your bag, slipping your hand past the flap to pull out the blocky device.

“An extraordinary feat to recover this…” He took it in his hand, his expression a muddled mixture of relief and bitter annoyance “But that's hardly the point. Without a lick of training and us hardly knowing anything about you, Dez has invited you to join HQ.”

Deacon drolled in a little too casually, “C’mon, Doc, lighten up just a little on the rookie.”

His grip tightened, jaw flexing irritably. “It would have been nice if she consulted with her second in command but what’s done is done.” He released a slow sigh. “Since you’re here now we might as well put you to work.”

You pulled out your sweetest smile. “Name it and I’m on it.”

“One of our field agents, Old Man Stockton, needs help with a runaway synth: H2-22.” He folded his arms, shoulders tensing up as he somewhat growled, “So headquarters, as always, puts out fires that others can’t be bothered to put out themselves. The paranoid old bat won’t even tell us the problem. He insists we get our Intel from a dead drop.”

You tossed a shoulder, a little more weary and bothered than you should have been. “Paranoid seems to be your guys’ brand of cereal…”

“I prefer Sugar Bombs myself,” Deacon added. “It’s the sugar.”

You gave a sincere nod. “Gotta love the sugar…”

Carrington groaned. “When you make contact with Stockton he won’t give you the time of day unless you give him the proper countersign. The current sign is, ‘Do you have a Geiger counter?’ And--”

“Mine’s on my pipboy.” You raised it into view for effect, stifling back your giggle when his fury jolted to Deacon as if he were to blame for your lack of seriousness. You spoke more firmly, more honestly, “It’s in the shop. Don’t worry, Doc. You can trust me with this.”

“You actually… sound rather convincing…” His eyes rolled shut, a sudden resignation sweeping over him. “Stockton is a prominent businessman at Bunker Hill. The dead drop will be near there.”

“We’ll use the back entrance,” Deacon ensured, a slight nod before the good doctor turned and walked away. “It’s quicker and it’ll keep our location--”

“A secret.” You grinned like a Cheshire Cat, hands tucked behind your back. “Speaking of secrets, we need some way to identify each other, you know, to make sure we’re not… synth replacements.” You waggled an eyebrow as Deacon caught on to what you were suggesting.

“Right.” He snapped his fingers, grinning too delightfully. “Our own secret sign and countersign.”

“Funky town,” you jeered, giving him a cheeky sideways glance. “A bug out word.”

Deacon chuckled as he stepped deeper into the catacombs.

Your excitement too much to bear, your feet nearly dancing out from under you. “If one of us uses it then it means something’s gone sideways.”

“And then we could make our timely exit.” He led the way through the crumbling wall, passed tattered sleeping bags and shelves stocked with various much needed supplies.

“Exactly!” You snagged a few stimpacks and stowed them away in your bag. It was an old habit, collecting things as you went and Deacon didn’t make any protests so you didn't think it mattered much. You were part of the club now, anyway. A few stimpacks here and there couldn’t hurt.


	7. Reflections, Regrets, and Really Bad Beer

You stopped at The Third Rail. You needed a good drink and with it getting dark, there was no point in continuing on. And Deacon understood the need to hunker down for the night. He made no protests when you suggested stopping in Goodneighbor to avoid what he called the “baddies”.

You grabbed a few drinks from Charlie and met the spymaster at one of the tables in the back, Dogmeat curled up lazily at his feet. You offered him the beer, letting your own clink onto the table. You dropped down into the chair and groaned, Your fingers reached up to squeeze against the sore muscles of your neck and shoulders. “I think I needed this more than I realized…” You grabbed the harsh smelling concoction and gulped it down.

He brought the bottle to his lips, taking the smallest of sips any man could ever take. He wasn’t going to let himself get drunk, to let his guard down… Clever, you had to admit. Cautious. “What’s the plan in the morning?”

“I’m going to take Dogmeat home… I think he’s had enough adventure this month.” You peered down at the pooch as you took another large swallow. It was the worst tasting swill you ever had to touch your tongue to. It had to be made out of battery acid.

Deacon wasn’t planning on getting drunk but you sure as hell were. You hadn’t touched a drop since walking out of the Vault but, God, you were exhausted: physically and emotionally. You needed to throw away your guard. You were tired of being responsible. You were tired of bearing the weight of the world. You were no closer to finding Shaun and you honestly weren’t sure you ever could. There was an entire planet out there and it was in total chaos.

Deacon leaned forward, his sunglasses reflecting better in the dimness of the bar. “We’ve got all night, Charms. No need to drown yourself just yet.” It was hard to determine his expression or even if he was looking at you or something in the background.

You smirked, leaning forward just a little as well. “If we’ve all got nicknames… I’m guessing Deacon isn’t exactly the name you were born with.”

He only grinned at that, dodging the question as eagerly as ever. “The Railroad has its secrets just like any good ol’ dysfunctional family does.”

You took another harsh swallow, trying to savor the acidic burn on your tongue and along your throat. Suddenly looking into his glasses felt harder, your reflection peering back at you. You looked slightly hollow, dirt dusted across your skin, and eyes somewhat sunken. You hadn’t exactly been eating the best food. Fancy Lads and Sugar Bombs provided nothing substantial. But that word: family. It didn’t hold the same meaning like it used to. It stung but worse it made you sick to your stomach.

Deacon must have noticed the change, watching you take another desperate mouthful. “Charmer?”

“Deacon,” you grinned half-heartedly, failing to hide the sudden bloom of grief. You folded your arms around the amber bottle, leaning your weight into the table. You knew the spymaster saw a great deal and couldn’t possibly lie to him. “It wasn’t all sunshine and roses…” You drank down the last of your beer before motioning the robotic barkeep to prepare another.

Deacon’s voice was soothing, deep and lulling, “Tell me about it, pal.”

You chuckled just as you got up and made your way to Charlie. You gladly paid for the drink and sat down across from Deacon again. He hadn’t budged since you left. You almost hoped he would let the conversation drop, to forget or ignore what had just happened. But Deacon wasn’t phased. Those same sunglasses were locked on you and your heart began hammering faster.

“I used to look back and miss it all. Everything was so bright and green and…” You chuckled breathily before taking a long drawn out swallow. “Damn the house looked so good back then. We just bought that damn house, too. God just paying for it… I got married, had a kid… all those cheery fucking moments…”

Deacon didn’t bother to say anything. Perhaps he knew your shoulders had finally cracked under the pressure.

“But now, I don’t know…” You rolled your eyes, trying to pretend you weren’t actually spilling your guts to a man you only met a few weeks ago. “It wasn’t all good. Not really. I wish I hadn’t moved so fast getting married… starting a family. I gave up so much because of what everyone else was expecting of me.” You gave a mild toss of your head, swishing back gulps of beer until your face burned. “I could have done so much more with my life. I had dreams. I had…” You tried to take another sip but the bottle was empty, the glass warming in your grip.

“We’ve all been there.” Deacon’s voice grabbed your gaze, that calm way he spoke about everything. “Every life’s got its good and bad, Charms.”

“I don’t think…” Your voice cracked, throat collapsing until it was painful. You knew why you were upset, why all of a sudden it was hitting so hard. “I don’t think I ever really loved him… I mean… really loved him.”

Deacon reached out and pulled the empty bottle from your grasp, setting it down on the other side of the table. “Whatever happened back then, pal… it’s already been had and done.” He settled his attention back on you, those glasses showing clearly how red your eyes were. “You’ve only got to deal with today and you’ve done a pretty damn good job so far.”

You snorted and snatched up his beer. You raised it up somewhat haughtily at him. “Did I? Cause sitting here… I feel like none of it was worth it. I feel so hollow and empty and…”

He reached out, fingers curling around your wrist before you could throw back another swallow. “Charms. If you fall apart, I’m here to pick you back up. Just keep doing you, pal.”

You knew he meant those words. You didn’t have to see his eyes to know he was looking into your own. You set the beer down and Deacon’s gentle touch vanished. You gave a few nods, slipping your eyes closed, wishing Deacon hadn’t let go so soon. “We should get some sleep. I’ve got enough to buy a room at the hotel.” You reached down and patted Dogmeat awake. You scooted the chair back and stood up, your boot catching on the leg of the table and nearly causing you to stumble.

Deacon was already up on his feet, hands clasping around your elbows. He didn’t say anything, just grinned and pulled you against his side. His arm draped itself around your shoulder as he led you through the dim club, just two people walking awkwardly to the stairs.

You leaned readily into him, fingers curling around the threadbare cloth of his shirt. You weren’t that drunk, barely tipsy, but you also didn’t want to let his warmth and strength go. “Thanks, Deeks.”

He squeezed you tighter, a half hug but it was the first time anyone had held you since waking up. “I’m in your corner, pal.”

You felt warm, too warm. You had drunk too much too quickly. And having Deacon take care of you, to see you suddenly at your worst… it was a strange mix of embarrassment and solidarity. You had only just met the man a few days ago, nearly a week ago, but you felt as if he'd been there for most of your life.

~:~

There had only been one ragged and tattered bed and there was honestly no reason for the two of you not to share. You didn't see Deacon as anything more than a friend. You weren't sure how Deacon saw you but he appeared to consider you a friend. Then again, Deacon appeared like a lot of things. You could never tell with him.

You slept soundly through the night. When Deacon shifted out of bed that morning, you hadn’t bothered to move or say anything. You just listened to him shuffle out of the room with Dogmeat’s paw clicking across the floor after him. Once the door shut behind him, you fluttered your eyes at the ceiling.

That emotional breakdown last night left you feeling a little embarrassed. Had you really admitted to resenting the life you chose, to not loving Nate? And you hadn’t, had you? He was a good man with a stable career but… did you really love him? Or did you settle down because that’s what everyone was doing? Getting married and having kids…

The bedroom door crept open and you hid the distraught in your expression. You pretended like you had just woken up, stretching and groaning from the ache in your arms and legs.

Deacon grinned widely, holding up the tin cans as if he were holding diamonds. “Found us a sweet breakfast meal.” He came waltzing in with Dogmeat at his heels, all too pleased with himself.

“Cram. I didn’t even like that crap before the apocalypse.” Your eyes fluttered condescendingly at him but the corner of your mouth hinted to a smirk. “I sure as hell won’t like it now.”

“Oh, sure.” Deacon just as teasingly retorted, “Let me just stop by the closest Red Rocket and grab a few snacks. Hell, we mine as well just go all out and find a nice joint that serves steak.”

You sat up and caught the can just as he tossed it to you. “Mm. Mirelurk steak…”

“With some BlamCo Mac n Cheese.” He plopped down on the corner of the bed and leaned back against the wall. “What I’d give for a hot meal.”

You snorted. “For a hot shower and bed. No offense but this hotel’s natural heating system needs a good upgrade.”

“They told us on the brochure it was high end.” Deacon pried open the metal can, the strong pungent scent of canned meat hitting your senses. It was too early in the morning and your nose crinkled in disgust.

“We have anymore of those snack cakes?” You reached across the bed for your gear. “I’ll eat sugar before I eat that… mystery meat.”

Deacon took out a huge spoonful and swallowed it down. “It’s great. It’s like a game. You swallow it as fast as you can without it touching your tongue.”

You held up the last snack cake from your pack. “Well my game is… how long can I hold this sugar on my tongue and burn off my taste buds.”

“Ah, post-apocalyptic pregame snacks…” Deacon wearily took another spoonful in his mouth then eyed Dogmeat. His body sighed in resignation. He scooped out the rest of the cram onto the floor then eyed you. “That game’s just too… sickening.”

Your words were muffled by the snack cake filling your mouth, “Mine’s great…” You snorted at his glower, almost choking on sponge and cream. You were laughing so hard you couldn’t stop Deacon from snatching the rest of the cake and gobbling it down.

Your mouth fell open with a shocked gasp.

“What?” He turned his head away, looking around the room for some pretend scenario that might have caused your astonishment. His expression was stony serious that you almost believed it.

You shook your head in disappointment. “Traitor.”

Deacon swallowed and licked his lips. The unmistakable grin gave way to his true nature, making his words laughable, “Charms, I’d never betray you, pal.”

“Mhm. Because stealing a girl’s snack cake doesn’t count, huh?” You hobbled out of bed. The pain striking your skull and the soreness in your legs were definitely going to make you slower today. And boy, did you have a long journey back to Sanctuary. It was damn near on the other side of the Commonwealth.

You gathered up your things and gave Deacon a glance. He nodded and followed you out of the hotel and out into the grungy morning sun. “Ah, damn it.” You snapped your fingers and rolled your eyes. “I forgot about Kent.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Deacon teased all too casually.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous…” You shook your head with a grin and grabbed your knapsack from your back. You dug around and pulled out the Silver Shroud costume you had fletched days ago. “A collector of sorts. Let’s turn this bad boy in and head out.”

“Sounds like a plan, pal.”


End file.
